


If I Can Tame You

by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik



Series: As Many Lifetimes with You as I Can Get [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Canon Disabled Character, Cerebro, Charles Has Issues, Charles Xavier Needs a Hug, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik Has Feelings, Erik has Issues, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Marvel Universe, Minor Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique, Mutant Powers, No Beach Divorce, Protective Erik, Recovery, Slow Burn, Smitten Erik, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Superheroes, Telepathy, True Love, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 122,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27452344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarkeStetler/pseuds/ClarkeStetler, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goosenik/pseuds/Goosenik
Summary: Seven years after the 'training' that separated them, Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier find each other again, both more damaged and burdened than they were upon their first meeting. But they are determined nonetheless to try and find a happy ending with each other... even if that's harder than either of them had anticipated. With the threat of Shaw still looming, four kids to take care of, Cerebro causing all kinds of problems, and their own individual traumas to work with, it's going to be a long road ahead.It was impossible, so impossible, but it was the same bracelet, the same eyes, the same freckles.The room felt too loud, too small.Charles’ head finally snapped up and turned from the attention of his friends. Erik felt frozen in place as Charles’ eyes sought Erik’s out, confused and merely mildly interested at first. Then his expression cleared, wiped clean, replaced with a look of complete and utter shock.Erik.His voice, his mind, up against Erik’s and almost painfully vivid as he stared at Erik from across the room, his wine glass tumbling from his hand.
Relationships: Angel Salvadore/Alex Summers, Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: As Many Lifetimes with You as I Can Get [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994272
Comments: 191
Kudos: 223





	1. Rivers and Roads: Charles and Erik, Multiple Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we catch you up on what you've missed in the last seven years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter has a CONTENT WARNING. Guys, we collected all the really terrible stuff in one chapter. If you don’t want to see a hell of a lot of misery, just wait until the next update and skip this one. Or, alternatively, scroll to Erik’s scene, which is far less upsetting. Trigger warning in Charles’ section for drug abuse, mentions of child abuse, and suicidal ideation. Charles had a hard first year or two, but we’ve contained the majority of these things in this one chapter and added a scene where he ended up at the end of the chapter to lighten the load somewhat.  
> I’m not kidding, I’m really not kidding. Trigger warning, guys. Skip to Erik’s section if you want to avoid all the drugs and ideation.

#### Charles: 2008 

Was this rock bottom? Charles curled in on himself slowly, trying to ignore the colors that exploded across his walls like fireworks, smearing into each other and fading before brightening again relentlessly. His body was shaking, maybe even seizing, his arms trembling against the hard slats of the wooden floor. His mind flickered through thoughts and memories in an offensive onslaught, tearing him back through the past two years. 

_“I don’t know when Shaw’s coming back! I keep waiting for him, every moment, around every corner, but I don’t know! And I can’t keep waiting!” Charles’ fingers dug at his arms and Moira moved forward, grabbing his fingers and holding them away from his skin tightly._

_“Charles,” she said sharply. “Charles, look at me. Stop, you need to stop, you need to breathe-”_

_“I don’t know why I’m here!” The words burst out of Charles like a wild, feral, living thing. “I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t know why I’m alive! I don’t know when he’s coming back for me or why he let me go or why he killed them! I don’t know why I didn’t die with them!” The last sentence came out broken, fragments of a question that had been bleeding him from the inside for two years. “Why didn’t I die with them, why didn’t I go then, why is he gone, why is it all gone…” he doubled forward, a low keening sound torn from his throat, and Moira wrapped her arms around him tightly, climbing into the bed beside him and hugging him against her._

_“Charles,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face. “Charles, I don’t think he’s coming back for you. And you’re not wrong. I don’t know that for sure. I don’t know the answer to any of that. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I don’t. I wish I could give you the answers.” She hugged him tighter, resting his head against her chest, and Charles squeezed his eyes shut, the tears burning as they came out. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Charles. What happened to you was terrible, it was so terrible. But this, doing this to yourself… it’s not the way out, it’s not the answer.”_

_“It makes it feel less bottomless,” he whispered, suddenly too tired even to raise his head and look at her. “It makes them quieter. There’s so many voices, Moira.”_

_“I know. But hold on. Please just hold on. It’ll get easier, it has to get easier. It just takes time.” She squeezed him tightly. “Go back with Raven, Charles. Please. Go back to school. Go learn, go be you. I’m begging you.”_

_“I don’t know if ‘me’ is left anymore,” he rasped, the sound hollow and broken. “I don’t know how.”_

His mouth was dry and his eyes were too, staring up at the ceiling as he dragged his hands slowly through his hair. His fingers felt sharp and clumsy, like claws rather than fingers, and he experienced a surreal moment of horror, wondering if he would ever be able to turn pages with claws for hands 

_“You’ll stay up here,” Kurt stated shortly, glancing down at Charles. He didn’t move, slumped forward in the chair that he may as well have been shackled to. His fingers tugged loosely, aimlessly, at the links of his bracelet, shifting them this way and that. He didn’t look up at his stepfather, didn’t bother to acknowledge the smile that spread so assuredly across Kurt’s face._ Not so high and mighty now, are you? How the little prince has fallen. _The thought was filled with scorn and Charles felt his hand clench briefly, lapping around the chain at his wrist._

_Kurt chuckled and turned. “I’ll bring you food eventually, if I remember. Feel free to help yourself to the kitchens… if you can make it down to them.” He laughed then, at his joke, and Charles resisted the urge, the word on the tip of his tongue that would make Kurt be silent and harmless forever._

_He could say it. He could end him._

_But Kurt wasn’t the one he wanted to end._

Oh, fuck, this wasn’t normal. Charles struggled to sit up with the realization, fell back to his back almost immediately. There was something wrong with the dilaudid, something off about it. He should have known better than to buy from Delaney but he’d been desperate and Dr. Samuels had decided to cut him off, had suspected that he was abusing it. He hadn’t had any other choice, he wasn’t strong enough on his own, but this wasn’t the wonderful, soft high that fuzzed out the world and the voices within it, this was something entirely other-- 

_“Stop here, stop,_ stop the car!” _Charles slammed his hands on the dash, staring in horror at the ruin in front of them. The manor was smoldering, a wreckage of a building, the walls just barely standing here and there. “Let me out,” he demanded, and the driver obeyed, pressing buttons to lower the ramp. Charles didn’t look to see if he was reacting out of his own will or Charles’, simply wheeled himself down the ramp and onto the gravel rapidly. He ignored how much harder it was to maneuver the chair on the rocks, pushing forward through it._

“Erik!” _He screamed it in his mind and outside it, letting the projection echo for miles around them._ “Erik! _Eleven! Ten!” He wheeled harder, finally reaching the front door. He heard the driver scrambling out of the car, no doubt in an attempt to stop the crazed boy in the wheelchair trying so frantically to make his way into the still-faintly-burning building. He continued screaming for them even as the driver ran across the gravel to catch up with him. He kept shouting, kept searching, demanding for a different answer than the silence that was ringing out like a gong both in his mind and outside it._

_They weren’t here._

It’s fine, _Charles told himself desperately._ It’s fine. Shaw moved them, I can find them, I can look. There must be clues inside the house and that’s why they burnt it down but Erik’s fine, he has to be fine, he’s just somewhere else. He has to be. _He pushed his chair forward and it caught the edge of the doorframe, sending him crashing onto the floor. He ignored the driver’s concern, shoved his hands off when the man tried to help pull him up, and then_

_He_

_Saw_

_Her_

_No matter how butchered, it was so clearly Ten, and all Charles could hear was screaming, and he couldn’t tell what was his and what wasn’t, projecting his horror and grief violently enough that the driver was on the ground somewhere behind him._

__

Charles let out a low whimper, rolling onto his side and dragging himself toward his bedside table. He needed to call Raven. He needed to get to a hospital, to purge some of this out of him. It wasn’t right, this wasn’t right. 

__

Or was it? 

__

He stilled, his fingers shaking in the air as they hovered above the wood of his nightstand. 

__

Could he lean into this? Let it go? 

__

Could he stop hearing voices and thoughts, stop being overwhelmed by his own pain and misery and that of others? 

__

Could he see Erik again? 

__

But then he knew exactly how bad the drugs coursing through his bloodstream were, because he could see Ten. She was leaning against the wall, her ankle hooked loosely around her leg. She was bloody, deep cuts ripping along her skin and clothes, but her eyes were exactly the same, watching Charles impassively. She lit a cigarette with her fingertip as he watched, letting his body sink slowly onto the ground, and then she took a drag. She blew the smoke at the ceiling, not looking away from him, and tapped ash onto the ground with slow, deliberate movements of her fingers. 

__

_“Privet,”_ she greeted him, and he was stunned by how thick her accent was, how beautiful. Had he ever told her how beautiful it was? She never would have accepted the compliment, but that didn’t make it less true. “You’re a mess, Twelve.” 

__

“Yes,” he agreed hoarsely. 

__

_“You’re more than the drugs. You’re more than your legs! God damn it all to hell, Charles, I need you!” Raven had been crying as she threw the bottle of dilaudid across the room. “You’re all I have!”_

__

Ten tilted her head, lifting the cigarette to her lips slowly, and Charles shook his head mechanically, fingers twitching and tapping against his chest. “She’s pretty,” Ten noted mildly, as if she could see the memory in his eyes. Maybe she could. It wasn’t as if she were anything but a figment of his mind, anyway, fracturing under stress, grief, and drug abuse. “You never spoke much about her.” 

__

“Didn’t want… Shaw to find her.” He tried to take in a breath, found that it was hard. If he was going to call for help, he needed to do it. His time was running out. Raven wanted him, loved him, but the wealth would go to her. She would be well-taken care of as his beneficiary and she had always, always been stronger than him… 

__

He was so fucking tired of fighting. 

__

“Hm.” Ten blew out smoke again, then crossed and crouched beside him. He tried to focus on her eyes, not the way her raven-dark hair was matted with blood and her bones were visible through the gashes that had been torn through her body. Charles let out a breaking noise. 

__

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ten. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

__

She reached out, tapping Charles’ forehead very slowly, and the drugs must have been good because he felt it, her skin of substance in the arctic air around him. “ _Yesli vy pozvolite yemu slomat' sebya, pogibnut dva cheloveka vmesto odnogo,”_ she murmured, leaning in close to whisper it against his ear. 

__

“I can’t… I don’t have your mind, I don’t know…” He reached for her as she leaned back. 

__

“If you let him break you, two people will die instead of one.” She watched him, eyes dark. “Call the hospital, Twelve. Then rest. Wake up yourself. Don’t let him win.” 

__

He obeyed with trembling fingers, his eyes barely able to keep track of the numbers, and she stood, crossing the room for the door. “Don’t leave me,” he begged, reaching for her. “Ten, don’t leave me, please, I’m- I can’t do this, I don’t know how, please don’t leave me--” 

__

“Twelve.” She cast him a somewhat-disparaging look that didn’t quite cover the fondness in her bloodied expression. “You are freaking out. Breathe.” 

__

And then she was gone. It was only minutes before the sirens reached him, before Raven broke through the door with them. If this was rock bottom, Charles decided slowly as hands grabbed at him, checked for his pulse, lifted him onto a gurney… If this was rock bottom, then he would find a way to climb his way back up. There was nowhere to go but back up. 

__

* * *

__

#### Erik: 2011

__

__

Erik spent a lot of time trying not to think these days. He was trying not to think now, as he watched the car below him creeping along the street. He could crunch it and all the people in it into a little ball and set it up at the top of the Eiffel Tower like a macabre Christmas star, but that lacked elegance, and the contract had asked for a less obvious hit. So few people allowed him to really funnel the seemingly endless ocean of rage into anything approaching creativity or a revenge fantasy, so he was stuck with the little silvery balls that spun around his hand as he sat on the roof, watching his target’s car move slowly down the street. Not that there was anything wrong with them, per se. They were more effective than any gun, than any other weapon he could think of. They would never miss, he didn’t lose control of them when they left his hand, and he could reshape them into tiny needles and truly be subtle, winding them through a victim’s body like glass, puncturing organs and arteries alike with very little evidence. 

__

He had lost track, after a while, of how many people he had fulfilled contracts on. For a while he had kept a vague count but no longer, because there was honestly no reason to do so. No one would ever want to know the number, and he would kill many more before this was all over. The spinning balls went slightly off their perfect figure-eights as Shaw’s face flickered across Erik’s mind, their spherical shapes malforming a little as his near-perfect focus wavered. 

__

He hadn’t heard from Shaw in months. The trail had gone cold weeks ago. Erik was in Paris because he had heard rumors that Shaw was recruiting, but it had come to nothing, and Erik was at a loss. His plan, if one could call it that, was to track down every name that he had collected over the last few years and get them to talk. He had ways of making people talk, was shockingly good at it. The now-crunched balls returned to their smooth figure-eights and he continued watching the car, not having actually moved in long enough that pigeons were pecking at the moss behind him on the roof, hoping to find a nut or seed someone had dropped there. 

__

Shaw had been right about a few things. Very few, but Erik did have to give him credit where credit was due. Shaw had developed Erik’s abilities in a way that few would or could have. Erik was exactly what Shaw had created-- _beautiful monster_ still rang in his head sometimes, when he was trying to sleep. That was accurate. He wasn’t particularly beautiful, Erik didn’t think- too many scars collected over the years, too much hardness and anger and lack of proper sleep or food. One could only live on rage for so long, and Erik was pushing the limits on it, practically vibrating with fury sometimes and sending everything metal around him corkscrewing and knotting in on themselves. He’d heard nervous descriptions of him as sharklike, and that, he felt, wasn’t too far off. 

__

But like a monster, Erik was very good at the terrible things he did, and in a way, Shaw was responsible for that. But Shaw hadn’t realized- or maybe he had, and that was part of his reasoning for doing what he’d done- that the finesse and control needed to truly master Erik’s power lay not in pain, not exactly, but in rage and grief and a lust for vengeance. He had given Erik the keys to unlock the rest of his gifts, and Erik had snapped the locks in two as he learned everything he physically could to complete his new mission in life. 

__

Speaking of missions, though… the car slowed finally, the back right door opening. The balls above Erik’s hand stopped, poised, and as a tall man got out, looking around furtively to see if he was being watched, Erik flexed his hand and let them fly. 

__

__

__

His first contact had been to track was a man in England, someone who ran a set of warehouses that, it was whispered, Shaw used to store things and sometimes people. A locked-up warehouse was no match for someone like Erik, and he tore through the gates and locked doors, making his way up to the top floor of the office building that oversaw the warehouses in question. 

__

“What do you want?” the manager cried as Erik ripped the door off its hinges and stepped inside. He was a small man, with a ratty kind of face and a high voice. Erik relaxed as the man spoke- he had been hoping to avoid anyone with the more southern accents. He had been in for a nasty shock when he ran into someone who had graduated from Oxford a few months ago. Although they had lacked Charles’ gorgeous voice, the accent had been spot on and the voice had been similar enough that it had made Erik’s chest hurt. He was glad then, that the man he needed to question today had a perfectly normal northern accent, far from the round, smooth tones of the boy whose absence still burned like acid against his bones. 

__

“Information.” Erik flicked a hand and the man was immediately pinned against the back wall, pieces of his desk helpfully molding up against his arms and legs to keep him there. “I need Sebastian Shaw. I hear that you have a relationship with him.”

__

“Never met him,” the little man squeaked, terrified and shaking. “I don’t know him, I just- just keep the units he emails about!” 

__

“And how does he pay for it?” Erik asked in a quiet voice. Very few people really saw the anger anymore; he had learned to freeze it, turn it into hard ice that could cut. Most thought he was unnaturally calm, actually, which was one of the few things Erik thought was funny. “You don’t give it to him for free, I would imagine.” 

__

“No, sir, but I can’t say- I can’t tell you his banking information!” The man’s eyes widened in true fear. Erik tilted his head. He, like many others, made the terrible mistake of believing that Shaw was more dangerous than Erik Lensherr. 

__

Maybe that had been true once, but that softer version of Erik had died with Charles. This version didn’t believe in mercy. Erik flicked a finger and a small piece of the metal leg of the desk tore off and rested against the other man’s throat. “This is very simple,” Erik said, watching him panic and feeling no sympathy. The man took money from Shaw and was currently shielding him. “Either you give me the information and risk the chance that I find Shaw before he finds you, or you continue to block me and I do to you what Shaw will do.” 

__

Ten minutes later, Erik strode out of the complex with a printout of Sebastian Shaw’s banking information, complete with last-known address and a contact number. He was fairly certain that the address was fake and the contact number was probably a burner phone as they had been before when he had gotten this far, but every scrap of information he had on the man would be useful, might lead to another fragment of information and another and another. At some point, it would connect to something real. You could only use fake addresses and burner phones for so long. Something had to stick. 

__

Maybe he could catch him unawares and Shaw could be fooled into believing that whatever he was risking storing in a public warehouse was being damaged in some way. Erik could easily stage a fire, or a chemical spill, or any number of other things. A fire might be particularly fitting— Ten had died too, after all. She would have appreciated that. She would have loved to help burn Shaw’s shit. He headed toward the unit in question, snapping off the lock with just a flick of his fingers, trying not to allow the memories rise, of Ten’s glowing eyes when she lit a fire, of Charles’ voice saying _well, why does he lock it if he knows it can’t stop you?_

__

Erik raised the door to the unit with a flex of his hand and his mood soured. Not books, not files, nothing even vaguely useful. Just a bunch of cars. Beautiful cars, admittedly, but definitely bugged and tracked, so he couldn’t even steal one for his own personal use. Erik vented his frustration by reducing a gorgeous ocean-blue 1953 Buick Wildcat into little more than a duffel bag-sized lump of metal and glass, unable to look at that particular color blue for longer than a few moments without pain racking his chest in a very real way that was not at all physical, the image of sparkling blue eyes too forcefully ringing back to him. 

__

_I’m going to kill you, Shaw,_ Erik growled as he continued to destroy the convertible, pretending it was Shaw’s skull. _You had just better hope that you’re in the fucking desert with no metal for miles and miles and miles when I find you._

__

That was okay, though, if it’s what happened. Erik always carried some metal with him, and he had gotten very, very good with making a lot of what little he had. He had Shaw to thank for that, too. 

__

There was a beep from his phone and he spared a glance down at it. There was a new contract in London, one that would pay enough to get him across the pond and start hunting for Shaw in America again. His money seemed to run out as quickly as he made it, constantly being spent on more and more resources and more and more information. Erik confirmed briefly and began pouring gasoline across the cars from a can he found hiding in the back of a little golf cart the lazy manager used to get around the facility. 

__

The next beep came with a photo of the target, a tall and cheerful man with a beard standing in front of tall spires and white stone. _Luke Legies, professor at Oxford University, $25,000 upon completion,_ the text beneath the image stated. Erik found himself hesitating, his fingers on the matches, his mind flickering to Charles’ ridiculous and immense pride in his school. He wouldn’t approve of blood spattering those white stones. 

__

But he needed to get back to America, where the trail was leading now, and he didn’t have the money without completing the job. He would just make sure that if he found the guy in the library, he’d drag him somewhere else, first. He wouldn’t sully Charles’ favorite place like that. He still had that much soul left. 

__

Erik lit a match and dropped it in the gasoline, watching the beautiful cars burn, the paint peeling up and running. _I’ll get him, Charles,_ he thought, allowing himself to think his name for a moment. _I promise. I’ll get him for all of us._

__

* * *

__

#### Charles: 2014

__

__

“You can do it, Alex.” Charles offered him a smile, relaxing back in his chair comfortably. He felt a strange, perverse kind of pleasure in the fact that he was using the overly-expensive garden statues Kurt had once purchased as targets for the boy. “You’re not going to hit me, I trust you.” He absently turned the bracelet on his wrist, not fully aware of the now-normal motion. “Hank says the suit should greatly improve your aim, and I trust him implicitly. I see no way in which this could go wrong.” 

__

“Uh-huh.” Angel tossed a piece of popcorn in her mouth, then threw one at Sean, who caught it deftly in his. They were sitting with Darwin and Hank at the back of the room, safely ensconced behind the stone half-wall. “Nope, no way at all. Alex, if you explode a man in a wheelchair, you’re just… _so_ going to hell.” 

__

“Angel, you aren’t helping.” Charles sighed it as she laughed and Alex looked at them nervously, then focused on his professor. 

__

“Sir, I know we joke about me blowing up the car but I don’t really want to blow you up. And not because I’ll go to hell if I do,” he added. “Which, she’s right. Straight to hell. Like, a hellmouth would open right here, they wouldn’t even wait for me to die.” 

__

“Oh, come on. The suit _looks_ cool at least,” Darwin called, standing closer than Charles would like, leaning over the wall. He knew Darwin would be fine if he was hit, it was the nature of his gift, but that wasn’t really the point. Charles fixed him with a look and Darwin grew a thick, armorlike skin, then reluctantly returned to sit beside Angel when Charles didn’t look impressed. 

__

“Thank you,” Charles said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Alex, I have the utmost faith in you. You’ve been running your ability with fear and anger for too long. Sometimes trust is a better motivator. I know you, and I trust you, and I love you. You’re not going to kill me. And if you do… well, good luck with Raven as your new headmaster.” He grinned to lighten the mood. “You’re going to do wonderfully. Just focus, breathe, and aim.” 

__

“Okay, having Raven as a headmistress is motivation enough,” Alex said with a nervous laugh, mentally bolstered by the praise. For so long he’d allowed himself to be afraid of his own gifts and afraid of himself, and it had taken the boy a long time to fully accept that Charles was, in fact, in his right mind when Charles told Alex that they all cared about him. 

__

Alex focused on the statues, positioning himself more firmly on the grass, repositioning the harness, and let his power go. It streaked out and absolutely obliterated Kurt’s very favorite statue, a truly terrible replica of _Winged Victory_ , severing the wings and cutting the body into several pieces that fell to the ground, on fire. 

__

Alex whooped, flopping back to the ground in relief and exultation and punched the air, and Charles felt a brilliant smile crash across his face, caught up in the joy radiating from Alex and the pride that he himself was projecting. 

__

This was what it should have been. The only one in danger was the one running the tests, the training, which was built on pride and care rather than sadism and pain. Alex had worked _so bloody hard_ and come _so bloody far_ and none of it had been through pain. None of it was anything Shaw would be proud of. 

__

“Wonderful job, Alex.” Charles beamed and Angel let out a shout of excitement herself, the true tension in her mind at the thought that Alex may actually burn him to a crisp evaporating. Sean threw her bag of popcorn with a victory screech, sending the flaming pieces of statue skidding back several more feet. They ran to congratulate their peer and Charles turned to Hank, nearly glowing as Hank crossed the grass to his side. “Excellent job, Henry. I was a bit worried about the calibration, truth be told, but you did as marvellously as always.” 

__

“Thanks.” Hank pushed his glasses up with a cheerful smile, caught up in the infectious mood. “I tried. I have some more modifications I’ve been planning for Sean’s flight suit--” 

__

“I’m going to fly!” Sean howled triumphantly, punching Darwin cheerfully in the stomach, and Hank rolled his eyes. 

__

“--and this will actually help a lot in helping me figure out the fibers and diagnostics,” he finished dryly. 

__

Charles watched the four young mutants on the lawn, tilting his head with a smile as he fondly watched them celebrate, bouncing around each other like the happy children they were. He wasn’t at the top of life, per se, but he was nearly as far now from rock bottom as he could be. “Raven comes back soon,” he noted to Hank, who predictably began flustering about that in his own head. Hank couldn’t figure out how he felt about Charles’ sister, and it sent him into little fits every time she decided to come back to the school for a visit. 

__

“Does she?” Hank asked mildly, checking his notes with an unconvincing expression of studiousness. Charles laughed, starting to wheel himself back up toward the school. 

__

“She does,” he agreed mildly. _You might want to get a haircut,_ he added silently.

__

“Speak for yourself!” Hank called across the grounds after him, and Charles’ laughter continued until he was in his study. He paused to glance at the painting that hung above the door, mind flickering to four other young mutants once in training, and then he left the study and headed up to his room. He had a party to get ready for, and Raven’s visit to prepare for before that. He was going to be busy. 

__


	2. Til I Reach You: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys finally get reunited, because we've put them through a pretty rough seven years and they deserve a light at the end of the tunnel.

_“Oh, you’re absolutely going to hate it.” A brilliant grin, a book pressed into his hands. “Beyond words. I can’t wait to see how mad it makes you, you’re going to froth at the mouth and yet you’re going to be so wrong. It’s_ The Hunger Artist _, page 32, and it’s a work of art. Come to my room when you’re done?” Twelve leaned up on his toes, pressing against Erik, and brushed his lips slowly across the corner of Erik’s lips. “You owe me a rematch for last night’s game, too. I’m still pretty sure you cheated.” He pulled back, long fingers brushing across Erik’s wrist, sending warm and happy streaks rocketing through Erik’s chest as his touch always did. “Good night, Erik. I’ll see you soon.”_

The buzzing of a phone, disrupting and shattering Erik’s dream, leaving him reaching up and out for someone who didn’t exist. Erik held still, inhaled slowly, and then exhaled and looked up at the ceiling as he lowered his hand slowly, trying not to destroy everything around him for having the audacity to wake him up. At the same time, maybe it was a blessing. If the dream had continued, maybe he would have seen Charles die again. At least their last real conversation had been a positive one, at least it was a peaceful note to end the dream on. They’d talked about chess and books, and they had kissed. It had, honestly, been a perfect summary of their relationship.

He had heard Twelve use Erik’s name again, which was wonderful and painful at the same time, as everything about Charles was, now. Erik rarely utilized his real name anymore, he’d dropped it nearly six years ago. Sometimes it felt like he would forget who Erik Lensherr was, like he was just the hunter, pursuing his quarry across the globe. Sometimes he almost forgot for a moment that he hadn’t always been this person, this creature, that he was now.

Erik tried not to think about Charles, tried to pretend that he, Erik, hadn’t existed before he had stumbled, bloody and half-broken, into the nearest Russian town from the manor. Erik was lucky that he had lived with Ten for so long; he was able to at least communicate with the people there, who hadn’t known any other language but Russian. He tried not to think about Charles because with his beautiful face and gorgeous voice came the pain and realization that Erik had been responsible for his death. 

After seven years, it hadn’t stopped hurting. The frequency had decreased, of course. Erik no longer woke from screaming nightmares every night, gasping frantically for the bloody body on the table while every piece of metal around him destroyed itself. He no longer thought about Charles every time he saw an old book or a classic novel. He didn’t spend his days grieving any longer, didn’t shy away from absolutely anything that would recall even the slightest echo of the boy he had lost.

He did think of him daily, though. In tiny fragments that he never sustained. The taste of tea, for example, was painfully reminiscent of their days together, and he refused it now after the first disastrous attempt. He hated the scent, too, and avoided it whenever possible. The color blue, in certain shades, always stung. Chessboards, of course, were avoided at all costs, and libraries were equally painful, and were shunned. _When you tame something, it is irrevocably changed,_ he thought every so often, and part of him hated it with a ferocity that he couldn’t bear.

Why had he met Charles, if he was merely going to die? Why had Erik touched him and loved him if he was going to be taken away? What was the point of any of it, other than to teach Erik that love was a game best left unchallenged?

Erik loving people got them killed. He understood that now in a way he hadn’t been able to grasp when he had been with Charles as a teenager. He had been too optimistic. He hadn’t understood that peace and happy endings had never been meant for beautiful monsters. He’d killed Charles, he’d killed his mother, and his actions had gotten Eleven and Ten killed, as well. 

Erik rolled over, banishing the thoughts, pushing them deep into his mind like submerging stones, and checked his phone as he pulled on the control and discipline that had gotten him through the last seven years. Work. Work was good, work was real and solid and was an excellent way to quell the ever-present swell of rage and bitterness in his chest. There was a text from Mystique on the screen, announcing that Erik needed to call her and get the details on a new job she had lined up for him. Erik felt himself smile a little, settling back into his bed. She was an excellent contact and regularly got Erik the best contracts, ones that led him toward Shaw. Maybe this would be one of the more promising leads. She had a network that he’d never had access to, and it had paid off a few times, Erik barely missing Shaw by a few hours. He sat up and typed back an affirmative, short and clipped. 

_Good. I’m outside your door with the details, hurry up and let me in,_ she replied instantly. Erik repressed the initial wave of irritation and stood, pulling on a turtleneck and jeans. He straightened his hair out of pure reflex before he went to the hotel door and opened it, looking every bit the cool, collected mercenary and not the man who had woken up begging to touch someone he had lost.

Erik moved frequently, both because he felt an aversion to staying in the same place for too long and because he didn’t want to be found. He had made enemies here and there in his career, and if he was going to fight with Shaw, _Erik_ wanted to be the one with the element of surprise. Somehow, the moving never stopped Mystique from finding him. Of course, she could tail Erik every day for all he knew; her mutation made that more than a possibility. Erik hadn’t had it confirmed until now, however, that she had already found this flat.

She wasn’t really a threat, however, and getting jobs was better than not. Better than sitting in one place and only hunting Shaw, with no money and no additional leads. At least some of her jobs gave him chances to refine his abilities and practice techniques that Erik wouldn’t have otherwise. Other jobs gave intel to the true target. It was a good deal, working with her, and she was one of very few people that he did not actively dislike.

“How is it that you found my place already?” Erik didn’t move away from the doorway, raising an eyebrow. She was wearing one of her favorites today, a femme fatale-style bombshell with a sharp cut of inky hair and striking blue eyes. The color was painful, almost too close to- Erik redirected the thought process. He was done thinking about him today. _Work._

She smirked at him. “Please. I’m good at what I do, Eisenhardt. Isn’t that why you keep me around? I never lose you, not for long.” She brushed past him and stepped inside, glancing around. “Do you use pieces of metal to float shit around and unpack faster?” she asked idly. “I’ve always wondered. Not that you have much to unpack.”

“No.” Erik watched her, still not really liking anyone in his space. Mystique usually didn’t irritate him as much as most people simply because she seemed to have accepted a long time ago that Erik would never have interest in her and wanted only the most cursory of work relationships. “What’s the job?”

“An assassination,” she noted, pulling a file from her bag and tossing it onto my table. “Delaney Durante, he’s a socialite in New York. The contract is just for quick and clean. Bonus points and money if it implicates his staff in any way.” She sat at the table as Erik pulled the file over and flipped it open. She began tearing into a bagel as she waited, and Erik ignored this roundly, just glad that she hadn’t brought tea with her this time. She often drank Charles’ favorite, the one he had been _most_ excited about when the kitchen stocked it. _Earl Grey is wonderful and classic,_ he had assured Erik. _But English Breakfast hits the spot no matter the brand. I have had some truly terrible Earl Greys, but never a bad English Breakfast._

Erik shoved the memory away forcefully. What was wrong with him today? Right now, he could blame Mystique’s eyes, which were just too close for comfort. At least her hair wasn’t brown and curly, that would have killed Erik where he stood.

Erik focused on the folder again. _Work._ The man in the photo was young and handsome, with an arrogant cast to his face that a lot of the socialites had. There were details on him in the papers below, but Erik waited rather than diving in. It was easier to just allow Mystique to rattle off the key points first. 

“He’s going to be at a party tonight for New York’s finest, rubbing elbows and winning over rich bitches. You know the drill.” Her eyes tracked him for a moment, then, “But this is _precision_ , Eisenhardt. There are to be _absolutely_ no civilian casualties here. I will take the contract myself if you aren’t one hundred percent sure that he can be your only kill of the night.”

An odd stipulation. Normally it was a given that Erik would only kill his own target; he didn’t exactly have a record for accidents. It had only happened once in six years, and that had been a total freak accident where someone literally had run across the room for a different reason and Erik hadn’t moved the missiles in time. Part of him was offended by this order and its commanding tone, while the other part of him simply took it into account and processed the underlying meaning beneath her words.

There was someone at the party who she wanted to live. Someone she knew, perhaps. Erik didn’t know much about her personal life. He didn’t even know her real name. Normally that would be a point of personal challenge and failure for him, but... It was hard to track someone who constantly swapped her identity out for a more convenient one. She had only slipped up and revealed something of herself one other time, upon meeting Erik, when she had said, _You aren’t the only one who has a score to settle with Sebastian Shaw._

That made this command very interesting. Erik didn’t really care about the intricacies of Mystique’s life- she liked her privacy and he liked his. Their once-a-month contact meeting was more than adequate. But it was still interesting. “Fine,” Erik said, inclining his head now and pushing it away. “I won’t touch anyone else, just him.” He looked at the picture of the target, committing it to memory. “He sounds like a shit anyway.”

Mystique laughed, standing. “You say that about everyone,” she remarked, “But you’re very right about it this time. I’ll wire over the money once he’s dead. See you later.”

Erik lifted a hand and flicked a finger, opening the door for her. “Enjoy the party.” He wondered briefly if he was expected to ask about her weird insistence on not hurting anyone there, then ignored it. She was private about her personal life. If she wanted to mention what she was freaked about, she would. Erik didn’t care. All that mattered was that he had a mission to concentrate on.

Erik lifted his little metal spheres, spinning and twirling them in complex patterns back and forth. Finesse and control. Those were things that Shaw hadn’t taught him, but things that were integral to his life now.

Control. Control the anger, the bitterness, the pain that he was sublimating so fiercely from the dream of the memory of the boy with blue eyes. He could get through this. They were getting closer to finding him every day, and until then… he had a job to do.

* * *

Erik stepped into the manor and repressed the immediate distaste that rose. It was pure opulence, lavish decorations and shimmering price tags everywhere. The women were bedecked in jewels, the men in tailored suits they had clearly poured money into. It looked far too much like a place that Sebastian Shaw would be at home in. Shaw had been well-bred too, with lots of money. The manor had been beautiful and opulent, although in disrepair. He seemed to have sensed that the mutants in his ‘care’ would have destroyed anything truly nice just out of spite and rage. 

Erik took a glass of dark wine off a waiter’s tray without looking at him, scanning the ballroom and making his way across the floor. He didn’t see Durante yet, which left him to further glower at his surroundings.

None of it was for their own enjoyment, it was all because they wanted their neighbors and friends to be impressed about how much money they had. Insanity, the hungers of humans. Mutants were so often more concerned with just surviving. 

Erik’s fingers slipped into his jacket’s pocket, found the silver ball there. No missed shots, no jammed guns, no possible escape. Even a bulletproof vest wouldn’t protect someone once Erik had decided to end them- his aim was perfect and he didn’t need momentum. As assassins went, he was perfect. Had that been Shaw’s endgame? An assassin?

Erik scanned the room as he took a drink of the wine. He wanted to get this done quickly and go back to the hotel. He had no interest in socializing or pretending he gave a damn about any of these people or their so-called _causes_ , so he didn’t want to attract enough attention that anyone would try to start a conversation with him. Trivial worries, human issues, and none of them on the scale of things he had experienced.

Mutants were known in the world, but most of them hid if they could. History had shown, quite clearly, that humans fought and killed anything that frightened them. Countless mutants had been hunted, lynched, murdered for the fact that they had been cursed with the misfortune to be born. Nowhere was safe while the humans held all the cards.

It was Shaw’s ideology. He knew that. He was aware of it, loathed that it lived in his bones like cancer. He’d rather purge all traces of the man from him. The fact that he would agree with Sebastian Shaw on _anything_ was disgusting. But Erik had been in the world for the last seven years. He had seen the news. He had seen the anti-mutant protests, as if it was something that could be simply given up. He’d seen the footage, the lynchings, the court cases. Shaw, as despicable and tyrannical as he had been… hadn’t been fully wrong about the humans.

It was Kafka’s name that caught his attention first as he stewed in his anger, a group somewhere to his left chattering animatedly. It was a group of four, one in a wheelchair with his back to Erik. He took a moment to appreciate the chair-- it had a fair bit of metal in it- and then realized abruptly that it was Durante standing there, Durante who had said the name.

“He’s absolutely overrated,” he said dismissively, taking a drink of wine. “ _Before the Law_ was fine, but _The Hunger Artist_ seemed self-important.” He shook his head and Erik examined him, bored of this game already. He needed to find a way to get him quickly, without potentially hitting anyone else. It would be best to wait until he’d gotten away from his friends, for a bathroom break or something of the sort. A public execution was all well and good, but the chaos was always messy afterward and the contract called for pinning the death on Durante’s staff. This was almost too easy, no real challenge to it. Erik began scanning for a knife or something he could use from the kitchen, something with staff fingerprints on it already.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the man in the wheelchair said, his voice soft and carrying a warm, smooth British accent. “I’ve rather a soft spot for _The Hunger Artist_.”

Erik spilled some of his wine, freezing in place, and fought down the immediate reaction. It had happened before. Once he’d grabbed a man on the street when he had heard him speaking, only seeing freckles and slim shoulders. The eyes, of course, had been wrong, and Erik had been forced to release him, looking and feeling insane.

No, he knew that it was impossible. The voice was just pretty and British, and _plenty_ of people liked _The Hunger Artist_ for some reason. He had reread it since and maintained that it was indulgent and self-important. Durante wasn’t fully wrong, but the novella still had fans. The voice only sounded familiar because he had been dreaming of Charles. It was his more than slightly unstable mind playing tricks on him, nothing more.

The silver in his pocket flattened into a disc, swirled into a spiral, extended into a needle, settled back into a sphere. He focused on the shapes, relaxing slowly. He just had to wait until Durante went to the bathroom and then he could leave. He continued manipulating the little sphere, keeping his attention on that to keep his mind occupied and burn off the adrenaline that had coursed through him at the British man’s voice. They were in America, so he hadn’t been expecting a Brit, either. That always made it worse.

“Come on,” Durante scoffed, rolling his eyes as he took a drink of what looked like brandy. “Next you’ll be telling me that you _still_ unironically like _Gatsby_. It’s been _years_ , you have to have better preferences than that by now.”

“You’ve terrible taste in literature, my friend, if you don’t think that _The Great Gatsby_ is a singular novel of deep worth.” But there was no heat in the Brit’s voice, only mild amusement, and Erik struggled to maintain his calm, his sphere flashing between different shapes within the cave of his fingers as his normally well-chained emotions struggled to settle.

_The game was always fixed, my friend._

It was a common enough term of affection, Erik reminded himself sharply, disgusted by his own weakness and want in that moment. The man in the wheelchair continued, unheeding of the chaos he was causing in Erik. “I understand there’s a level of irony in me being monied and living in New York and loving that particular novel, but it doesn’t mean that the prose is any less beautiful. I-“

“ _Charles. Delaney._ Can we talk about something _other_ than books?” One of the other men was exasperated, and the man in the wheelchair laughed, the sound warm and kind and _oh God_ , so familiar it sent spikes of pain into Erik’s chest before the name registered, the other name. The name he hadn’t known, of the man in the wheelchair with the beautiful voice, who liked books and Kafka.

Charles. The earth was rocking under Erik’s feet, the little sphere in his pocket curling in on itself tightly. Charles, his name was Charles. The glass in Erik’s other hand shattered from how hard he’d gripped it and he ignored the pain and the blood, forcing himself to stop using his gifts because the sphere was abandoned in favor of stripping every screw from the doors and walls anywhere near him.

How was this even possible? Charles had been _dead_ , he’d been dying even when Erik had burst into the torture cell. He had learned more about anatomy in his freedom, had thought back to the wounds. Charles would have bled out in mere hours like that, how could it possibly be him?

Could it be Mystique?

Erik was filled with ice as the thought suddenly struck him, stilling with his eyes on the back of the head covered in soft brown curls. It would be unnaturally cruel of her, because it wouldn’t possibly be a coincidence. It would be a choice she was making, a deliberate weapon against him. If it was her, choosing that body, that voice, that face, with those lines… yes, it was deliberate, a carefully-studied disguise.

Rage pooled dark and heavy in Erik’s stomach and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. He didn’t _know_ that was the case. If it was her, Erik would kill her. He didn’t need her that badly, not so much that he would overlook this crime of using Charles like a goddamn Halloween costume. He put his still-bleeding hand in his pocket, moving around the room slowly at a prowling pace. He needed to see the Brit’s face. The lack of sapphire eyes and freckled cheeks would break it, would explain to him that it was not Charles or Mystique, that it was a common name in England and Kafka was a famous author and it was all somehow a coincidence that seemed unlikely, but stranger things happened, so he’d been told.

It was like being hit with a battering ram. 

Charles’ eyes were filled with mirth and were the same unbelievably blue color as they had always been. He was older, a man now instead of a boy, his body long and shoulders more broad than they had been before, his jaw stronger though still without any stubble. Was that a good sign, his age? If it were Mystique, basing appearance off of photos or videos, would she be able to age herself like this? Surely not so perfectly, surely there would be flaws there. And if it was Erik’s unstable mind finally cracking, wouldn’t he look seventeen?

Erik leaned back against the wall so he wouldn’t fall over, staring at the man in front of him, still laughing at something one of the other men had said. He was just as beautiful as he had always been- truly, more so now that he was a full-grown man. Charles was gorgeous, with those amazing eyes and that warm, soft, polished voice. His hair was messy and dark, still unruly even in freedom, and the freckles on his skin seemed to stand out more as an adult than they had as a boy. He grinned up at one of the men around him, gesturing with long-fingered hands as he spoke, and Erik caught the hum of metal around his wrist that he should have caught before, but the metal of the chair had thrown him off. It was a bracelet, links of bright and dull chain curling softly against Charles’ skin. They were happy to be there, were almost warm and contented, and the two metals chimed together, almost singing. Erik staggered, his lungs suddenly tight.

 _Charles refused to take one of the cuffs off, claiming cheerfully that it was a good memory, and one he didn’t regret. “How often do you get to_ fly?” _He pointed out teasingly, refusing to agree that his ‘flight’ had been an uncontrolled free-fall aimed toward his death._

It was impossible, so impossible, but it was the same bracelet, the same eyes, the same freckles.

_Charles’ head was a soft weight on his chest, his fingers hesitant but willing as they held the cuffs out to Erik, his warm body wound around him and against his side._

The room felt too loud, too small.

_It’s perfect. Truly, genuinely, incandescently perfect. Thank you._

He was still wearing it. There was no mistaking the bracelet. Erik had become intimately aware of it during those endless seconds of falling in the elevator shaft, and in the months after, in the observatory, in the reshaping of it. He had played with those cuffs, that bracelet, had kissed the skin beneath it, had felt the cool metal against his skin as Charles had slept on him, his hand resting on Erik’s chest. Erik was a metallokinetic and he knew this alloy, knew the taste of this metal, as if he were identifying his own face.

Mystique wouldn’t have known or thought to replicate the bracelet. It would have been nothing to her, and even if she had, it wouldn’t be the _same_ metal. And no other Brit named Charles who happened to love Kafka would be wearing it and looking like that.

It was Charles. It was actually him.

Charles’ head finally snapped up and turned from the attention of his friends. Was it the repetition of his name that had done it? The memories, the echoed words? Erik felt frozen in place as Charles’ eyes sought Erik’s out, confused and merely mildly interested at first. Then his expression cleared, wiped clean, replaced with a look of complete and utter shock.

 _Erik._ His voice, his mind, up against Erik’s and almost painfully vivid as he stared at Erik from across the room, his wine glass tumbling from his hand. His friends hurried around him, waving for servants to clean up the spill and the glass and interrogating him on if he was okay, but he didn’t look away from Erik, his eyes wide and stunned.

 _Charles._ Erik couldn’t even smile, the shock still too acute, and something in his head screaming that he had to be insane, that this couldn’t be real because it was too good to be true. One of the men touched Charles’ shoulder to get his attention and Erik moved quickly as the realization hit him- if other people could see him, if other people could touch him, was he real? Was it real?

Erik moved forward into the small knot of people around Charles, completely ignoring how they protested as he moved them away and apart, and sank to a crouch in front of the wheelchair, his legs refusing to support him any longer as Erik stared up at cerulean eyes and a shell-shocked face. “Hey,” Erik said, unable to look away from the irises that he hadn’t been able to truly conjure up in memory. They were so much more beautiful than he had remembered. Erik’s hands shook and he pressed them surreptitiously to his legs, trying to breathe. If this was real, if he hadn’t lost his mind… Charles was right here, in front of him.

“Excuse me,” one of the men said, flustered. “Can we _help_ you?”

Erik ignored him wholly, continuing to search Charles’ face, committing every tiny difference and change the last six years had wrought. There was tension in his shoulders and expression that hadn’t been there before, a certain look of strain on his face. His jaw was sharper, his cheeks thinner, but he looked… so much the same. Just grown into himself.

Charles stared down at him, his eyes wide and almost lost, and then, “Leave,” he said numbly. Erik wondered for a horrific split-second if Charles was dismissing _him_ , but then, “ _ **Leave**_ ,” he ordered sharply, voice raising slightly, his hands tightening around the wheels of his chair.

Complete and total silence fell around them, and then gradually, eerily, all the partygoers headed for the door. They began talking to each other softly, chattering happily as if they had just had a wonderful time at a party that had wound down, not that they’d all been commanded to leave mid-celebration. Part of Erik, the part that wasn’t focused on the face of the man in front of him, was impressed at the sheer power of this. He had just commanded over two hundred people without blinking an eye, and they had obeyed without pause, without even fully knowing what had just happened. He’d never known Charles capable of such things. The two men were alone in the ballroom in seconds.

Once they were alone, Erik slowly, carefully, reached out to touch Charles’ knee. He was in a wheelchair. Of course he was, Erik had seen the spinal damage when he had broken into the room. He had seen what Shaw had done, so this made sense. It had just never processed as a possibility, because Charles had been dead, so he had never considered what would have actually happened as a result of those injuries, had he lived. “You’re real?” It was more of a question than a statement, his hand slightly unsteady and his voice not much better.

Charles shook his head mechanically, eyes never leaving Erik’s face. “I am. But you… you can’t be real,” he whispered slowly. “You’re… you can’t be real. You’re dead. And I looked, I looked for a Ringer and they can’t be found and the ones who can- not without a body, they said, and the body was-“ he broke off, brow creasing in that achingly familiar way. “You can’t be real,” he repeated slowly, emotions flickering across his face and through his eyes too quickly for Erik to catch, clearly calculating the likelihood that this was a trick.

“I didn’t think you were real either, for a minute. I heard your voice, and-” Erik stopped, trying to focus and be able to breathe. He hadn’t moved from his kneeling position, and he didn’t want to. “Your bracelet. I know that metal, I reformed that metal. No one else could have it, and no one else would know the importance of it. It’s you.” Erik tried to smile, but still felt shaky and unsteady. “I’m real, Charles. Look as much as you want to, I don’t care. I’m real. I can’t believe you’re real.” His hand shook and he willed myself to still. “You’re real. He told me he killed you, and I believed him. I’m so sorry, Charles. I never should have left you alone that day, I knew better. I should have known.”

Comprehension dawned on that pale, freckled face, and with it, bitterness. “This is cruel even for you,” he said with sudden venom in his voice, leaning back from Erik sharply. “What the _fuck_ do you want, Emma? I told you that if I ever felt your mind anywhere near mine again, that I wouldn’t be lenient, I told you to leave me and my family in peace, and this is what you do. Do you project the same fucking scene for Shaw? Erik on his knees, vulnerable and happy? Does it do it for him, since you can’t? Get the fuck up before I fry you, and get his face off, I don’t want to see him like this.” His knuckles were white on the arms of his chair, his voice shaking slightly with rage or pain, Erik couldn’t quite identify.

To be honest, at this point Erik didn’t give less of a shit if Charles did hurt him. It was Charles. He was _alive_. Charles could do whatever he wanted and Erik would be happy in this moment that he was alive. But when the telepath inevitably realized that it was actually Erik, it would upset Charles that he’d hurt him. 

Erik moved his hand off Charles’ knee carefully and backed up slightly, but didn’t look away from his face. “I’m not Emma,” he said gently, chest aching at the pain in his former lover’s face. “Look. Crack me open and look at whatever you want, I don’t care.” 

He’d find out that Erik was a murderer, but Charles already known that, and Erik had already been that. Charles would just find out the extent of the damage, discover the new blood on Erik’s hands. It didn’t matter. If he cast Erik out, Erik would make sure Charles was safe and go, in pain but at least happy in the knowledge that the man he had loved for so long was alive and safe. 

He couldn’t blame someone like Charles not wanting someone like himself. Erik had more than tripled the amount of blood on his hands since Shaw had left him. Erik’s chest ached as he looked up at Charles, hearing the pain and rage in the British man’s beautiful voice and understanding it.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to be anywhere near your mind, Emma. Stop the projection. Get his face off. He’s dead, I know he’s dead. The Ringer couldn’t find him without a body and I don’t know how you’re replicating the mind, maybe you’re in my shields enough to fuck with me like that, but this is your last warning. Get his face off right now. Erik didn’t even know my goddamn name, I know it’s not him.”

Erik experienced a brief moment of awe at the implication of what a Ringer was, but there were more important matters at stake. “I woke up after seeing you hurt, tied up in the deep basement without metal anywhere near. Shaw tied me up and left me there. He told me he’d killed all of you and then locked the door and walked away.” Erik took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needed to stop the pain Charles was in. “Emma told me your name after I begged Shaw to tell me and he refused. She didn’t help me out or give me anything else, but she told me your name. So she wasn’t all bad.” Erik took a deep breath. He needed Charles to understand it was real. “Look in my head. Do whatever you need to do, but it’s me.”

Charles held still for a long moment, visibly bracing himself for impact or pain, and then opened his eyes and looked at Erik. “If you’re lying…” he left the threat unfinished, his fingertips brushing his temple and his eyes unfocusing very slightly.

It was nothing like Emma’s forays into Erik’s mind in his youth. It wasn’t even like Charles’ forays into Erik’s mind in his youth. He couldn’t feel him at all. It would almost be unnerving if it weren’t him, weren’t Charles, who would never abuse that ability. It would be terrifying to know that he could do this if Erik hadn’t given him permission. The knowledge that there were telepaths strong enough to sneak in, read someone’s entire history, and sneak back out without the victim ever having a clue…

Charles let out a sudden, unsteady breath, his hand dropping from his temple to cover his mouth. _Erik. Oh my god, it is you. I’m so sorry, I didn’t— I ran into her a few years ago and—_ he searched Erik’s face, the violence and bitterness gone from his again, replaced instead by unsteady relief. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” Erik felt a smile break across his face, the first real smile he’d made in years. “God, Charles, I’ve missed you.” He laughed a little at that understatement. “It’s natural to be unsure, to be cautious. We didn’t have the best of lives, to start.”

He let out a weak laugh and reached out, his hand trembling slightly. _How did you get out of there? The mansion was destroyed, there were bodies, I looked. I didn’t find yours, but they said they did, they said it was in pieces. How did Shaw let you go?_

Erik caught his hand, relieved that Charles wanted to touch him still, after all the violence he had to have seen in Erik’s head. “He left me there because he wanted me to break my own way out. It was a self-serving experiment on his part. He wanted to see if I was strong enough. There wasn’t anything near, but I finally got a screw down from the top floors. It… took a while.” The better part of a week, actually. “How did _you_ survive? Charles, I saw your wounds.” With that thought came old pain, but Charles was here, in front of him. Alive and vibrant and gorgeous. “He said you were dead.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, fingers curling tightly around Erik’s. “I’ve wondered the same thing so many times. I was on the table, and he was cutting me.” His forehead creased as his fingers traced patterns on Erik’s hand. “You came in, and I felt you touch me, and then… and then I woke up in the hospital. They said that I had been found bleeding on the side of the road. I tried to go back, to figure out where to go back _to_ , but I couldn’t… walk.” His jaw clenched, his hand loosening on Erik’s. “By the time I got out and found the manor, it was just ashes and wreckage and bodies. I never knew how I got out. I thought maybe Shaw did it, maybe it was some sort of trick, but then... he never came back for me. Not yet, anyways.”

The sentence was telling. Erik had been pursuing Shaw for the last seven years, searching and hunting. Charles was in the opposite position, waiting constantly for Shaw to come back and claim him again.

“He won’t.” It snapped out viciously, a low and violent promise, and Erik forced himself to calm. The idea that Shaw could come back and hurt Charles again, after all these years, made the metal around him groan in anger. Erik took a long breath in and let it out. “I got up to the upper floors, and everything was destroyed and everyone was in pieces. I burned the place to the ground and gathered some of the ashes, and the pieces that were left.” Erik felt a small smile quirk his lips, dark humor rising. “Actually, Charles, you’ve got a grave. I visit once a year. You, Eleven and Ten. I couldn’t tell who was who, there were so many… pieces, so I just… you know. Gathered ashes and what I could and made graves.” 

Erik looked at Charles’ hands, so warm and healthy and clean, then focused up at him. “I don’t care that you can’t walk,” he informed him. “Why the fuck would I care? I’m sure it upsets you, and I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure Shaw pays for it.”

Charles opened his mouth, his hand brushing against Erik’s cheek, and then he flinched. “Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, it’s my sister, she’s being rather loud-“ he raised a hand to his forehead with a wince. “She wants to make sure I’m not being killed?” He paused, looking at Erik somewhat quizzically, and then a girl was striding angrily into the room.

“You had a job,” she snapped at Erik, who frowned at her, slowly pushing himself into a more crouched position, prepared to run and take Charles if he needed to. Her eyes flicked between the two and she stopped, clearly confused, and then raged. “Out,” she snarled, yanking him up. “Get out, Eisenhardt, get the hell out of here.”

“Wait, what?” Charles straightened in alarm, looking between them as Erik’s other hand was pulled from his. “Raven, what—“

“Whatever he’s told you, it’s a lie. He doesn’t need to be here. Eisenhardt, get the fuck out or I’ll send you out in pieces.” Her eyes were blazing, furious, protectively violent in the same way that Charles’ always had been. Erik blinked down at her, then realized- it was Mystique. As that realization came, things started to make sense.

She hated Shaw. She was unbelievably private about her life. She’d never mentioned family, she was incredibly paranoid. She was absolutely vicious about certain things. They got along well because we were so similar. She hadn’t been through what Erik had been through… but her brother had.

“You didn’t want any harm to anyone else, you stipulated that no one could be hurt because Charles was here. He’s your brother.” Things continued falling into place, and Erik stared down at her as the insanity of what she’d asked him to do hit him. “Why in the hell would you send me in if you knew he could be in the crossfire?” If you had family, why risk it like that?

Mystique- Raven- looked between the men, gritting her teeth. Her eyes were shifting colors, her power manifesting her anxiety. “Shut the hell up and get out of here,” she snarled at him. “Or I will shoot you in the face.” 

It may have been funny, in another time without the surrounding circumstances, someone threatening him with a metal weapon. Erik had never seen her so anxious, but she’d only really known him as something dangerous and now he was within arm’s length of who was likely her only family. He couldn’t blame her for the stress.

“Charles, I’ll be right back to take you home,” she said, shoving at Erik again. “I need to speak to him for a minute, just stay here. There was a mistake somewhere, just stay here.”

As she tried to push at him again, Erik noted that she had no metal on her but her earrings, meaning she was bluffing or she had a gun that wasn’t metal… somehow. “I’m not going anywhere,” Erik informed her, and Raven glared at him, reaching into the pocket of her jacket. Erik hesitated- normally he would just kill or knock her out, and part of him _wanted_ to, but this was Charles’ sister. He looked over her shoulder at Charles as Raven closed her hand around something in her pocket. He had no intention of being separated from Charles again, but he didn’t want to hurt his sister either.

“Raven.” Charles’ voice was sharp, cracking like a whip. His voice was softer when he spoke next. “That’s Erik.”

“What?” Raven looked back at him, then slowly raised her hand away from whatever she’d had in her jacket, eyeing Erik. “He used a different name with me,” she said, then looked back at Charles, clearly still itching to do something, still obviously uneasy with Erik this close to Charles. “You checked him? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He nodded. “Believe me, I had my share of doubts. How do you know… _oh_ , for contracts. I see. Reading his mind, not yours, love.” His eyes returned to Erik, studying him closely. 

Was this where he threw Erik out because of how he made his living? Erik was supposed to kill his friend Delaney tonight until he’d been distracted by this impossible miracle. Erik couldn’t blame him- it was a lot to accept or forgive. Killing Shaw or Emma was one thing, but the people Erik had killed mostly were just strangers people had contracted him for. And killing people under Shaw… that had been different too. In some ways he had had no choice. But he had all the choice now, and Erik had made choices that Charles, in all his good-heartedness, could and would never make.

Whatever Charles wanted, whatever kind of relationship he’d allow, Erik would take it, as pathetic as that sounded to an extent. He had gone crazy thinking Charles was dead, so being even just friends, acquaintances, would be okay. As long as he knew Charles was okay.

Trying to look as unthreatening as possible in the face of potential rejection, Erik put his hands in his pockets and noted that his left one still stung. He pulled it out enough to glance at it- it wasn’t really bleeding too much anymore- and put it back, looking back at Charles. There was no point in trying to hide it, he should just be honest. _I’m sure this isn’t quite the reunion you dreamed of. Me here trying to kill your friend. Even if he does have abysmal taste in literature and deserves to be removed for that reason alone._

Charles’ lips twitched and he looked at Raven. “Could you bring the car around?” He asked her softly, and she looked between us, pressing her lips into the thinnest of lines, eyes still slowly flickering different colors, and nodded after a moment.

“If you so much as put a scratch on him, I will destroy you in ways not even Shaw thought of,” Raven snapped at Erik, and stormed out. Erik looked after her, amusement dancing in his mind. She was _feisty_. He had never seen her so angry and protective, it was almost cute, considering that if Erik wanted, she would never be able to get anywhere near him. Her gift wasn’t as offensive as his, and he had honed it in what was almost a battlezone.

“Your sister is charming,” he told Charles, unable to look away from him for very long. Charles laughed, eyes crinkling in a familiar way that made Erik’s chest hurt in that old way that his smile always had. Memory hadn’t done it justice.

“I certainly think so. You shouldn’t underestimate her though.” His brow creased slightly, but he didn’t share the thought that had inspired the action. He shook it off slightly, then looked up at Erik. “You think I would hold your job against you?”

Erik gave a small smile, shrugging a little. Many times through the years, he had known that Charles would be upset if he’d known what he became, what he had done with his life. Charles always had believed in second chances, in helping people. Erik did the exact opposite. “You have always believed that even shitty people deserve a second chance. I don’t give them that. It isn’t the kind of life you ever wanted to be involved in.” 

Charles tilted his head, eyes crinkling slightly. “It seems to me that you still haven’t gotten _your_ second chance,” he pointed out lightly, then silently, _I’ve got my own fair bit of baggage,_ he reflected thoughtfully. _I can’t go to the dentist, and I make the doctor visit in my own home. I can’t… do the rooms. The smell of smoke makes me flashback. I can’t control it— I always smell flesh in the fire._

“I know,” Erik said quietly. He had needed to get medical help once or twice, and he hadn’t done well when they had brought him back to the examination room, so he dealt with his healer now, or simply didn’t get medical attention at all.

He caged the urge to reach out and take Charles’ hand, to soothe him in the ways he would have seven years ago. Things might have changed. For all he knew, Charles had a lot of things going on and might be married, engaged, in a relationship… Erik had already taken a lot of liberties. He kept those thoughts quiet, not wanting to make Charles uncomfortable if that were the case. He’d been through enough.

Erik gave Charles a small smile. “I’m sorry. I understand- I don’t go to hospitals either. I haven’t been to the dentist, but I can imagine it… wouldn’t go well.”

Charles waved this sympathy off, though there was a touch of concern in his eyes. “The point is... that I have trauma and baggage that affects me to this day.” He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at Erik with a half-smile. “And that’s not even mentioning the immediate aftermath of our freedom. I was only there for three months. You were there for seven years. Your job is a reflection of that, and I can’t hold it against you. You deserve a second chance, just as much as anyone does. You’re living a life that you had very little choice in.”

Erik stared at him. He had imagined, on days when he’d been particularly daft, a reunion of sorts. Maybe in the afterlife, he had never actually thought it through completely. Sometimes, he had dreamed about it. Erik had imagined every scenario, but very few had turned out like this. Just… forgiveness and acceptance. Understanding. Erik reached out slowly, touching Charles’ cheek gently. “You were back then and continue to be far better than anyone deserves,” he told him, searching the beautiful blue eyes, and Charles laughed, his fingers turning and catching Erik’s hand reflexively. 

“Poppycock,” he informed him warmly, then faltered, brow creasing as he thought. “I… don’t know what happens next. You have your flat, although it’s really terribly spartan, Erik, you should buy some art- and you have a life.”

“A life?” Erik gave a short bark of a laugh. “Charles, my life is hunting Shaw.” He slowly dropped his hand from Charles’ face, running it through his hair instead. “That’s why I’m _here_. To track a lead, so I can kill the bastard.”

“Your life is not Shaw’s.” Charles’ voice was sharp again, a whip that cracked the air in half. “If you devote everything to hunting him, then he wins. He gets to own you, just like he always wanted to.” He reached out, grabbing Erik’s arm. “Don’t let him win, Erik, not after all this time.”

Erik searched his face, then gave a small smile, relenting for the moment. He couldn’t stop looking for Shaw, not after what Shaw had done… but he could stop, for now. Just enjoy being around Charles again, learn what he could do to ease some of those lines and pain on his former lover’s face. “You’re still so fierce.”

His lips curved up slowly into a brilliant smile. “I would invite you home for drinks and to bandage that hand, but… ah. I suppose I should tell you.” He looked oddly uncertain now, fingers plucking at his bracelet in a nervous tick Erik was nearly sure he didn’t realize he was doing.

Erik watched him, nodding a little as a million reasons ran through his head why Charles would need to brace him for something. Charles probably was married, had a live-in boyfriend or something of course, how could he not? He was the most incredible person that Erik had ever met in his life, and there was no way that it was only Erik who had noticed. Erik hadn’t noticed a ring and didn’t feel one now, but plenty of people didn’t wear rings.

He kept his expression straight, hoping that Charles hadn’t heard the panic. “Tell me whatever you need to tell me. I can go back to my flat and see you tomorrow if now isn’t a good time.” Shoving down the rising panic of not seeing Charles, Erik forced himself into calm. It felt too new, too fragile to just _leave_. But if that’s what he wanted, Erik would do it.

“No,” Charles said quickly, surprised, releasing the bracelet. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…” he stopped again, taking a deep breath, then, “I live in a very large house. And I run a school for young mutants.” Neither of them moved for a moment, and Erik became aware in the silence that someone was repeatedly honking from the front. Charles’ fingers brushed his temple for a moment and the beeping stopped as Erik processed this information.

“You run a school.” Ugh. Children. He had only the most cursory contact with children since he’d been one. _I live in a very big house._ Erik snorted and looked back at Charles with a smile. “Charles, I knew you were rich, that doesn’t bother me. The schools you went to, the way you were educated, that made sense and never really bothered me. I can see why you’d open a school, too. Of course you did. If I had guessed what you would do, _teaching_ makes perfect sense.” And it also made sense that the children probably shouldn’t know where Erik came from or how they knew each other. Erik doubted that Charles had shared _that_ part of his life with them. He shook his head as the car outside let out a squawk. “Come on, _Professor_. We can just drop me at my flat. That’s fine.” Erik probably shouldn’t be near the children, honestly. He would put them off their healthy breakfast that Charles had no doubt researched extensively.

Confusion on Charles’ face as he looked up at Erik. “I… no, I would _love_ for them to meet you.” _Erik, I’m warning you because there are obvious parallels to my life and what Shaw did, because memories could spring up on you if you were to come home with me and see the similarities._

He was still so good. Erik had wondered, through the years, if the world being the terrible, shitty place it was, would have crushed that optimism and warmth out of him, but it had stayed and that was incredible. Erik gave him the best smile he could, his chest aching at the fact that this was real. “As long as I’m not asked to referee a game or something terrible like that, it’s fine. Thank you.” His school would be so wildly different in every way, Erik couldn’t imagine it would set him off… but it was good to be prepared.

He relaxed fully, his smile returning, bright and overwhelming on his face. “Then would you like to come back for drinks?”

Erik would follow that smile to the ends of the fucking earth. “Drinks sound good,” he agreed. “I didn’t actually drink much of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter title for this book will come from song lyrics. It's either something that suits the chapter, or something I was listening to on repeat while working on the plot.
> 
> Chapters 1 and 2 are both lyrics from 'Rivers and Roads' by The Head and The Heart.


	3. Here's to Us: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Erik return to the mansion, Erik meets the kids, and they get some time to talk.

The car ride was amusing, to say the least. Raven was trying to make sense of things, thinking back through the year that she’d known Erik and fitting him properly into the person that Charles had told her about. She was somewhat skeptical still- the Erik Charles had known was warm and kind and protective, fiercely so. The Erik that she knew was a contract killer and those concepts just didn’t quite mesh. But she knew that Charles would never allow him near the children if he wasn’t certain, so she let it go… for now. She didn’t trust Erik in the slightest, but she would allow him to be in the house for the moment.

She was also absolutely _furious_ at herself for not recognizing Erik. She’d had the ability, she had seen the picture Charles had had made, and she hadn’t recognized him. She had been working with Erik for a year and she could have helped Charles know that Erik wasn’t dead a long time ago if she’d just _paid attention_. Self-castigation was a large part of her mind’s landscape right now, almost radiating off her as she thought about the times Charles had had a nightmare or she’d found him in pain from the memories and grief. 

Charles tried to stay out of her head, struggling to stay in his own mind despite his own curiosity as to her perceptions of Erik. He knew how much she hated it when he looked at her thoughts or memories. He would talk to her about the whole not-recognizing-Erik thing later, and assure her that he didn’t blame her in the slightest.

As for Erik, he was unable to stop looking at Charles for very long, finding an excuse to touch Charles’ hand or shoulder often. He was all confusion and relief and happiness, his mind just as jumbled and confused as Charles felt.

It was brilliant and powerful and nearly overwhelming. Charles knew, of course, that it wouldn’t be this easy. Finding him, settling together happily, it was all too much of a blessing. They couldn’t just pick up where they had left off. Seven years had passed, Erik had been through hell. Charles himself had been through hell and back. He’d found most of the pieces of himself, sewn them back together in a nearly-cohesive patchwork, built a life around them. But those scars were still so obvious. He knew that it wouldn’t be simple.

But Charles wanted him. He wasn’t naive enough to think that Erik would still want him in return. He didn’t look, keeping his mind brutally in check rather than giving in to the urge to find out exactly what Erik was thinking. He could _feel_ the thoughts, of course, waves of joy, confusion, confliction, relief, all chaos and light and color. It was as beautiful as Erik was, while Charles was…

No, he knew better than to expect anything from him. Erik wouldn’t want him as he was now, and he reminded himself fiercely that this was fine. Erik was _alive_ , was back in the world, was right beside him, and that _was_ good enough. Charles didn’t need more than that, even if he wanted more. What mattered was that Erik was here, his mind a starburst of light and intensity beside Charles’. It was as breathtaking as it had ever been.

He had missed his mind so unbelievably much.

He hadn’t known the price when he had first lost Erik. He hadn’t understood what Erik was to him, hadn’t understood what the consequences were of losing the connection they’d had. He had scraped himself together over the past six years, weaving substance out of the tattered threads left of his own mind. It had been immensely difficult, just as difficult as finding himself again had been. 

And now Erik was _here_ , his mind a lighthouse in the darkness, a stone on the shore. The other voices seemed quieter and calmer in comparison, less like shouting and more like faint white noise. Charles felt more sane than he had in years, and he knew how dangerous that was. It had taken him _everything_ to keep his sanity and build back a tolerance after the last time he had lost his anchor.

If Erik left, would he be back to square one?

Charles turned his attention sharply from the horrific thought, focused on the lights of the mansion in the distance. “The kids will either be in bed or be partying because they think they still have a few hours until the function is over,” he noted to Erik as they approached the drive. “If the former, you’ll have to meet them later. If the latter…” He pressed his lips together briefly.

Erik snorted. “That sounds about right. How old are they?” Charles could see a worry there behind Erik’s calm, worry that little children would hate him or be afraid of him, and he wouldn’t know what to do in the slightest. He was certain that he would scare them- he wasn’t nice or cuddly, he decided, and he tended to make people uncomfortable because he rarely smiled and these days, he had an aura of anger that almost radiated off him. “Most likely your house will be destroyed, Charles. I hope you’re ready for that. Moving and renovating are a pain.”

“Luckily I am fully confident that I could guilt them into helping with the repairs.” Charles shot him a grin. “They’re all teenagers. Alex and Angel will like you in particular, I think. They’ve had rougher backgrounds and they’ll like that you aren’t as tidy as I am. You may intimidate Hank somewhat, I’ll admit. Darwin and Sean will just take it in stride- oh lord, they _are_ still up.” Charles sighed, smiling slightly as Raven parked in front of the house. The mood inside was high, bright and boisterous enough that the emotions nearly glowed. They were having fun, at least, though the volume of the music was almost certain to cause hearing damage with prolonged exposure…

Erik relaxed next to Charles. _Teenagers_ he could deal with, he determined, that wouldn’t be so bad. He could scare teenagers and they’d get over it quickly enough, it wasn’t like tiny children, who were terrified of you forever. “Well, I suppose we can go stop their fun,” he said, giving Charles a slight smile. “That’s always fun.”

Charles laughed. “You just want to play bad cop,” he informed Erik dryly, wheeling himself down the vehicle ramp and toward the house. It was odd— he had been in the chair for seven years and over the past five years, he had accepted it. He had become used to it. But now more than ever, he was _aware_ of it, aware that he wasn’t at Erik’s height, aware that he required ramps, aware of every tiny obstacle in a way he hadn’t been for ages. Erik hadn’t mentioned the chair yet, and in his mind he honestly had barely registered it. Charles was sure that, when asked, Erik would claim that he didn’t mind- an easy thing to say when Charles had come back to life and they were within two hours of reunification… but what about when the newness and relief wore off? What happened when he realized just how limited the world had become for Charles?

Charles glanced back and found Erik looking up at the house, interested and impressed. They had discussed Erik’s upbringing a few times- his mother had owned a small apartment above a bread shop. They hadn’t ever had much, but they’d been happy. The mansion before them was strange to him, and it did remind him mildly of Hallow Hall, regardless of what he was willing to admit. Charles firmed his own shields again, keeping himself inside his own mind again. Over the years he had refined the ability to keep himself inside his own head, and he didn’t want to invade Erik’s privacy… or to hear something that he just wasn’t ready to face yet.

“It’s better than the other place,” Erik said, glancing down at Charles with a small smile that was sweet due to how hard he was obviously trying. He wasn’t used to being soft anymore. “At least the outside’s decent. I hate all that fake gilding people put on there.”

Charles chuckled. “Indeed. Luckily, my stepfather preferred a more natural approach. We renovated a lot of the interior when I moved back in, however. I just needed… more change.” He raised his fingers to his temple. “ _I expect you all to be neat and orderly when I get in there. We have company._ ” He didn’t need to say the words aloud, of course, merely said them for Raven and Erik’s benefit.

There was sudden silence from the house, and Charles grinned. Erik snorted and Raven laughed, walking ahead of them. “I’ll help them clean up the mess,” she said, and shifted to the dark-haired and blue-eyed Raven that the kids knew. Of course she changed her appearance sometimes, but this, someone she had once told Charles that she’d modeled after Charles himself and his mother, was the most usual form she took here. The children saw her as a friend and classmate as well as a mentor, while Charles was firmly in the mentor category. This was no doubt helped by her habit of vanishing for months on end, off travelling the world. She ran up the drive and Erik shook his head.

“So you’ve got a large group of teenagers that you leave at your house without supervision. I knew that you were insane, Charles, but I was not aware of the extent of your insanity. You’re lucky the place is still standing.”

“I think that they’re exceptional young people,” Charles informed him cheerfully, caught up in the amusement of the moment, the words of Erik and the chaos he could sense inside the manor as the kids scrambled to clean. “Some of them are from rougher backgrounds, but then… so are we. You’ll like them.”

Erik looked down at him, considering this, and relaxed a little more as he seemed to actually find that idea comforting. He had told Charles once that Three and Seven had been uppity, private-school kids who hadn’t liked the fact that Erik was from a rougher background, making fun of his lack of knowledge. He hadn’t expressed aloud how much that had bothered him, but it had, terribly, and when Charles had mentioned a school, Erik had vaguely worried that it was that type of school, with those types of students. The idea of a school that was more normal, with normal kids, was wonderfully relieving to him. 

“All right,” he said, clearly unsure but trusting Charles anyway. “Let’s head inside then, and see what a mess they’ve made.”

Charles nodded and opened the door, surveying the lobby of the mansion. It could be worse, really. The teenagers staring back at him guiltily were mildly tipsy but not black-out drunk, and Sean was racing around to collect junk food trash as fast as he could, skidding on socked feet on the floor. The others were scattered around the room and frozen in place, staring at the two men in the doorway like deer in headlights. Charles suppressed his amusement, arching an eyebrow at them.

“Do you want to talk about what is happening here?”

“We were enjoying our youth, sir?” Darwin asked hopefully. He was eighteen already, the oldest of the students and often the most settled. It didn’t look like that had stopped him from joining in, and it usually didn’t stop him from helping them create utter chaos… though to his credit, he rarely _started_ it, unlike Alex and Sean. “Just, getting out all of those difficult teenage feelings so we can be prim and proper the rest of the week.” He elbowed Alex hard in the ribs, who was trying not to laugh at Darwin’s earnestness.

“You’re absolutely shameless, Mr. Munoz. And here I was, hoping you and Hank would be adding levity to the situation.” Charles allowed himself to smile and Sean looked weak with relief, hovering nervously behind Alex as if hoping to avoid notice. Hank was hanging off the banister, and dropped back to his feet quickly as he met Charles’ raised eyebrows. “Students, this is-” He stopped, suddenly aware that he didn’t know what Erik wanted them to know him as. Raven knew him as Max Eisenhardt, was that what he would prefer they call him? Had he completely abandoned Erik Lensherr?

“Is that the guy in the painting?” Angel popped her hip, staring at him in fascination. “Damn, he grew up well.”

“Ms. Salvadore, I will remind you that you are seventeen.” Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please refrain from inappropriate comments about your elders.”

“Seventeen’s almost eighteen,” she pointed out mildly, and Charles kept his eyes shut, squinting against the mental image she was suggesting in a mix of horror and exasperation. 

“It’s not.” Erik raised an eyebrow at her, then looked at the kids. “My name is Erik Eisenhardt,” he said calmly. “I am an old friend of your professor’s, and he’s convinced me to come and see the future of our kind. I am unused to children, and it may be a while until I am accustomed to having others around, so I would advise not startling me, or you could end up with new piercings you may not want.” _Painting?_ Erik didn’t look at Charles, but the telepath felt amusement in Erik’s mind. Charles’ ears pinkened very slightly.

 _I guarantee you, it’s not whatever you’re thinking,_ he informed him immediately, dropping his hand from his face and watching as the kids sized Erik up.

“Hello, sir,” Darwin said respectfully, clearly a little worried about Erik’s opinion of him. He enjoyed pranks, but he wanted nonetheless to be reliable and liked, and usually did take responsibility for the others. He was a good influence on them, most of the time.

Alex grinned at Erik, unfazed completely. He liked a challenge and never backed down from anything, although he was somewhat perturbed by Angel’s reaction, and even more disconcerted by the fact that he felt that way in the first place. Angel was more involved with examining Erik’s shoulders, admiring them in a way that had Charles looking anywhere but at the two of them. _Friendship,_ he reminded himself sharply, ignoring the fact that she had a very good point about those shoulders. Sean was musing on the fact that Erik looked like a shark, and Hank was nervously cleaning up the area around him, eager to avoid reprimand.

“Go to bed,” Charles told them with a glance at the clock. “It’s almost midnight, and I guarantee you that you’ll be up bright and early to clean all this up. Go on.”

They started filing up the stairs, their minds beautifully familiar and predictable. Hank was internally wondering if Charles was disappointed in him, Alex was planning on pouring shaving cream in Hank’s shoes, Darwin was dreading the morning of work ahead, Sean was wondering if he could scream the garbage into the trashcan, Angel was idly fantasizing about Erik- Charles firmly turned his mind from _that._

“Thanks, Professor.” Sean grinned at Charles as he darted up the stairs after them, Raven ending the line, and Charles shook his head with a smile.

“Exceptional young people,” he echoed warmly.

“Yes, I can tell.” Erik looked at the mess around them and waved a hand, the cans and silverware shifting into a neat pile. The plates and various other pieces of garbage, however, remained strewn all over. Charles didn’t comment on the act of kindness, instead shaking his head.

“Ah, well. They deserved a night of fun. It’s half the reason I went out tonight at all- they needed to cut loose. I’m not thrilled about the alcohol, however. I _will_ be discussing that with them… Come on, let’s go somewhere less messy.”

He led Erik down the hall, to the study Charles had made his own over the past few years. He ignored the intensity of the academic clutter within, papers and books and essays half-formed and scattered around all the surfaces. He realized with belated amusement that the study was _not_ , in fact, less messy than the foyer or living area had been, but it felt more comfortable to him all the same. The chair opposite Charles’ desk was comfortable enough for Erik to sit in for a while, and it didn’t have anything on it, which was what mattered. Charles felt his eyes follow Erik’s mind, taking in the bookshelves on the walls and the large window behind the desk. It had a lovely view of the gardens and the pond, all shimmering in the moonlight.

“It may be slightly messy in here also,” Charles accepted grudgingly, though he made no effort to sort the mess. Erik gave a short, rusty laugh that sounded like he didn’t use it much, shaking his head and tilting to read bits and pieces of the papers and spines of books.

“Charles. Don’t you think I remember what your room in Hallow looked like? You had books and papers strewn all over the place, you were a disaster.” There was only fondness there, though, no hint of a reprimand.

“It was better than _your_ room,” Charles protested, a grin lifting the corners of his lips. “Military, Erik, positively spartan. It was ridiculous, and your rooms now aren’t much better, judging from what I saw in your memories.” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the painting that hung above the door, and then he cleared his throat. “Erik… Zasha and Beck.” 

“What?” Erik frowned at him a little, clearly trying to make the connection and scanning through names of people that he knew, finding no connection in the slightest, and Charles motioned briefly to the painting behind Erik, watching him carefully. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to open the wound, but Erik deserved to know.

“Ten and Eleven. Their names were Zasha Andreyev and Beck Peterson.”

Erik stilled, staring at Charles as his thoughts whirled in amazement and wonder, an old pain beneath all of that. There was a happiness ringing through him at the knowledge of their names, a bittersweet sort of joy in that information. It was cruel, to reduce a person to a number and deny them their name. Knowing those names was more important than anyone but maybe they understood, because they had been through it, too. Charles and Erik understood what it was like to love someone and have the pain of only knowing the barest of information about them, not even having a name to grieve them with. At least Charles knew, but Erik had had to live with nothing but Ten and Eleven as names for the last seven years.

Erik took a deep breath, then looked around at the painting, facing it properly. Charles had arranged and had the scene painted years ago. Sometimes he deliberately avoided looking at it. Other times it was all he could look at. Zasha, teasing Beck with a laugh and a cigarette between her fingers, Beck laughing in return. Erik was seated beside them, his elbow on his knees and a grin on his face as he watched them.

Erik’s lips parted and he looked up at it, moving close so he could study the details. “Look at them,” he said slowly, a smile crossing his face. The emotions Charles could feel emanating from him were complicated. Joy, that he got to see their faces again. It had always bothered him that he didn’t have any photos of them and couldn’t always remember what they looked like. Pain, to see them and remember that they were gone. Sorrow at their deaths and the loss of the girls that had once been so much of his life, his entire life, for a while. Hate, boiling, rolling hate, at Shaw for separating them anyway.

Erik looked at Charles after a long while, giving a small but grateful smile that made him look more like the boy Charles remembered. “My memory isn’t always good. I honestly didn’t remember how Eleven’s hair was. It’s a beautiful painting. I’m glad that you had it made- it’s good to see their faces.” Erik looked up at their faces for a long moment more, thinking about Ten’s anger, Eleven’s singing, their laughter, the way Eleven had loved stories, and Charles could hear him trying to burn the names into his memory. _Beck. Zasha._ “I’m glad you had it made,” he said again, reaching up and touching the edge of the frame. “Did you ever learn more about them? I never knew names or I would have, I just had a memory of faces and their numbers and neither of those is really all that helpful.”

“Zasha was the easier one to locate, actually. It still took a few years, I wasn’t really…” He shook his head slightly and felt a pulse of understanding and acceptance from Erik. “She was thirteen when she was taken, was a firestarter, had enough anger to hint at a criminal background. Shaw did some work burying her records, but eventually I found a news report about a thirteen year-old girl in Russia who had burned her school down. After-hours and no one died, but still.” Charles studied Zasha’s face. “Her parents had been criminals as well, had died in a fire the year before. The police were just starting to look at her as a suspect in that, and then… she went missing from her cell. Shaw paid people off, of course, there were no reports about her going missing. I had to interview some of the guards even to get that much.”

Erik studied her face. “Poor thing,” he said quietly. “It’s hard to live with the knowledge that you hurt someone you care about. No wonder she was so angry and hated people knowing anything about her.” He shook his head, pushing the memories connected to _hard to hurt someone you care about_ down where he didn’t have to think about them. “And Beck?” His eyes flicked to the smaller girl.

“Beck was much harder,” Charles admitted quietly. “A fourteen year-old girl ‘running away’ in America… it’s not uncommon. Her gift wasn’t aggressive or notable enough to make the news in any way, so she just fell through the cracks. I spent evenings looking through missing persons reports for a long time, I only finally found her this past year. She had a boyfriend who had been looking for her at the time, but her father hadn’t ever been around and her mother died shortly after she was taken. There was no kin to notify.”

Erik’s eyes tightened. “Most of us, the ones who talked about it, anyway, our parents were already dead when we were taken, or they died in the taking.” _Or we helped_. That thought from him ached down to his bones, but he moved on, pushing it down and away again as Charles imagined Erik treated most emotions, now. “I can’t imagine Beck’s mother’s fear- knowing her daughter was gone and not being able to find her. You’re right, there are so many missing teenagers in America… she may not have been looked for very hard. I cannot imagine the panic.” The side of his mouth quirked slightly. “Died shortly after… yes, I imagine she did. We wouldn’t want any witnesses or people _looking_ for the children, would we?” He took another long moment to stare at the painting, then stepped back a little and looked back at Charles. “Thank you. I’m glad you know about them, at least. At least there’s two people who remember them, and mourn them.”

Charles hesitated for one more moment, then wheeled himself to the nearest bookcase, pulling down a tattered copy of _War and Peace_. “I found you, too,” he added, pulling out the photo he had once stuck between the pages and holding it out. It would have been easy enough for Erik to find his own records and hunt down photos if he wanted them (although there had been an ‘unfortunate’ fire in the bakery that had destroyed their entire complex shortly after Erik and his mother had vanished), but Charles wanted to offer it anyways. Just in case Erik didn’t have hard copies, or if he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look for photos. He held it out and Erik blinked at him in surprise, then reached out and took it.

The image was lovely, Erik’s mother dressed up for Shabbat and kneeling in front of his childhood self with a warm smile as she fixed his tie. Little Erik was grinning sheepishly at her, his weight on one side as he fidgeted. Erik stared down at the photo, slowly tracing his mother’s face with a finger.

“I’ve never… I didn’t go back. I didn’t want to, I knew there was nothing left, they would have packed everything away or sold it in some estate sale, and I didn’t… didn’t think I wanted a bunch of old furniture anyway. I heard about the fire so I figured everything would be gone.” His mouth twisted in a mockery of amusement. “Accident, _mein arsch_.” His thoughts rang loudly, pain and love and grief and longing all mixed together in a heady combination that made his hands a little unsteady. Very slowly, and reluctantly, he put the picture in his pocket and looked away. “Thank you, Charles,” he said quietly, expression smooth and calm again, even as his mind roiled with all the new information. “Sometimes I forget what they all looked like, as terrible as that sounds. It’s good to have photos.”

“No, I understand. I had the painting made a couple years back for that exact reason.” Charles shook his head, letting out a sigh, then chuckled dryly. “You can’t imagine how miffed Raven is, that she didn’t recognize you. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t like looking at it because it reminds her of when I was taken, that’s why I hung it above the door where she wouldn’t have to see it. I think the only time she actually looked was when it was first completed. She’s quite kicking herself for that now.”

Charles turned as Erik gave his bark-laugh again, wheeling himself back across the room and pulled a few books down from one of the shelves, retrieving the liquor bottles hidden behind them. The kids must have either paid someone off to get some for their party or found some stash of Kurt’s or Cain’s that Charles hadn’t known about. He’d have to look harder, to make sure there wasn’t more lurking about.

Erik was looking around at the study again, his emotions still in upheaval, but mostly in a good way, now. Mostly, he was thinking about how glad he was to be able to have their faces, a bittersweet joy that was better than the sharp pain. “What are you researching?” Erik asked, clearly trying to distract himself. “You always said you wanted to do research on genetics, I remember.”

“Unfortunately, that’s somewhat fallen by the wayside in the wake of all this.” Charles chuckled as he poured their drinks carefully. “I’ve been working with Hank, primarily. He’s a genius, utterly brilliant. He’s an excellent engineer and all-around scientist. He’s created a great many things to support our lifestyle here, but right now we’ve been working on a machine to amplify my telepathy. In theory, I could hear… anyone. Anywhere. The theory is that I could use it to track down people. Find people like us and help them understand what’s happening. Find Shaw, maybe even.” He offered Erik a drink.

Erik raised an eyebrow and settled into his chair, taking the drink with a nod of thanks, his mind racing through the ideas that such a machine could be used for. “That’s an incredible idea. Amplifying your powers to that extreme… that would be very useful. What were you planning on doing, when you found Shaw?” Amusement made Erik’s eyes brighten as he watched Charles over his glass. “Have you finally discovered that violence is indeed the answer on occasion?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I... don’t know what I’ll do when I find him.” Charles admitted the words freely, lightly. “I don’t believe in killing. I did it once, and I won’t do it again. But he also can’t be left to ruin more lives, to wreak more chaos.” He felt his eyes wander back to the painting, to Erik, Zasha, and Beck in a moment of happiness on a park bench that they, of course, had never had.

He hadn’t been able to place it indoors, when the artist had asked about background. He couldn’t bear the thought of it when they had never been able to breathe free air again. And that was because of Shaw.

“I’ve thought about a cage,” Charles murmured after a time, looking back at Erik as he considered the question of what to do with Shaw, once they’d found him. “Somewhere deep and dark. Food, water, and his own thoughts and nothing else. Let him live with them, if he can.”

Erik’s emotions were just dark appreciation and enjoyment of the idea. “Shaw deserves that. He deserves to rot in a hole, to lose everything like that. He forced us there, he should feel what it’s like to feel fear and pain for once.” Erik looked up at the painting, expression softening a little as he took another drink. “I always wondered how they’d turn out. If… Zasha would grow out of her anger, if she’d keep it. What Beck would be like if we could have pulled her out of her shell, made her feel safe.” He smiled a little. “You, however, turned out just as I expected you would. That is a very nice surprise.”

Charles laughed. “Yes, I suppose I’m fairly predictable. My academic progress was stalled by a semester or two while I tried to… recover. But then I went back to school, got my degrees, tried to bury myself in science and literature. But I couldn’t forget about Beck. How much I had wanted to help her.” He settled across from Erik’s chair, taking a small sip of the brandy in his glass. “So I ended up turning the estate into a school and started gathering young mutants, trying to teach them and protect them.” _The way Shaw didn’t_ , he finished silently, but didn’t feel the need to project it to Erik, instead keeping the words inside his own mind.

Erik nodded, thinking about it and drawing his own parallels. “It seems like you’ve done well,” he said, looking around the room. “The kids seem happy, and they’re safe here. You’ve given people like us somewhere safe, sheltered them from men like Shaw.”

“Did I?” Charles swirled the drink slowly in his glass, watching the dark liquid spin. “I wonder, sometimes. Wouldn’t it be lovely for him to finally come back, for me to have wrapped them up like a present with a bow? He wouldn’t even have to look for them— young, powerful mutants without a family, I’ve already gathered them all up. They’re marvelously spirited, and I could take Emma now that I’m an adult, but Shaw was always so…” Unconquerable. Charles took a longer drink.

Erik watched him, turning the idea around in his head and examining it from all angles. Then, _if you want help, Charles, I will stay. Bastard can keep you out of his head, but he can’t stop me from putting a thirty pound railroad spike through his heart_. “We know him better than anyone.” Erik’s fingers brushed Charles’ as he handed him the now-empty glass. He had drank it quickly. The reunion, seeing Beck and Zasha’s faces, being back in a school, thinking about Shaw… there was a lot going on. “We won’t allow it to happen, and I can help you take care of your children.”

Charles searched his face in surprise, brushing across the surface of Erik’s mind. He didn’t ask if Erik was sure— Erik _was_ sure, and Charles felt himself smile. “You will always be able to leave,” Charles reminded him, drawing this boundary now before Erik could begin to feel trapped. “This isn’t another prison. I know you like to move around, and if it gets too hard… I understand. I do. Raven leaves for months on end sometimes- I saw her this morning for the first time since February. I won’t be angry if it’s the same for you.”

Erik laughed a little, shaking his head. “As if you would ever try and trap me anywhere,” he informed Charles, taking his drink as Charles held out a newly-filled glass, sipping it slower this time. “You are the last person who would do such a thing. I can’t guarantee how I will deal with staying here long-term; I may have to move rooms on occasion, or take a job if I need to move around for a bit. But I would like to have this as my… base.” Erik’s gaze flickered away from Charles’, a little embarrassed. There had been a lot of words he’d wanted to use instead of _base_ , but this was still feeling very new and fragile to both of them, and he didn’t want to presume anything.

Charles felt a grin cross his face regardless. “You’re a young mutant without a family, Erik. This can be your home.” He raised his glass and took a drink, revelling quietly in the fact that Erik was here, alive, and real. Erik laughed, relaxing, and tipped his glass to Charles before taking another drink and thinking _home_ with a sense of bemused and contented fascination, settling back into the chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Old Friends,' which is a song in the musical "Merrily We Roll Along."
> 
> Also, you finally learn the names of Ten and Eleven. They're completely random OC's with no connection to the movies or comicverse. Both were meant to be a one-off, just red shirts so to speak, and then Zasha ended up becoming retroactively somewhat important to both Charles and Erik, which is funny as she was never really meant to be mentioned again in the first draft of this series. Just random behind-the-scenes info for you so you don't think they're actual comic characters you've somehow forgotten.


	4. Like a Force to Be Reckoned With: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erik wanders the mansion, has a talk with Raven, and learns some things about his old friend.

“The job was easy enough, and then I stayed in the area for a while. I was never much one for the beach, but I spent some time there. The water is so blue, you wouldn’t be able to believe it. The music there is lively, and the locals are-” Erik stopped, glancing over, and paused, feeling a smile creep over his face.

Charles was asleep. He was slumped over on his desk with a small smile even in unconsciousness. Erik had never met anyone who smiled as much as Charles did, as a teenager or an adult. His head was pillowed on his arm, his fingers loose around one of the metal spheres Erik had handed him. The metal hummed to Erik, warm and content against Charles’ palm, and Erik laughed a little, understanding. He had always loved it when Charles held him, too. There were few experiences better than sitting and feeling Charles’ hand in his.

Erik reached out, brushing Charles’ hair out of his eyes. He was older and had been through a lot. There was a strange kind of change in his face, something that spoke to a difficult time that made Erik want to break the world in half and rebuild it in a way that would make Charles smile.

But he was still Charles. There was still that beautiful smile, that brilliant mind and endless forgiveness and compassion that Erik had never been able to find in anyone else. Charles just gave himself, all of himself, without a second thought. That was just who he was, and it was who Erik had fallen in love with in the first place.

It was comforting that the world hadn’t managed to crush it out of him. The world was a hard, scary place, and Erik had often thought about the changes that would have to be wrought in a person like Charles, in a place like this. But the telepath hadn’t allowed that, he had instead created a small place where others like them could find happiness and safety, where others could be secure and learn how to control themselves without worrying about being tortured if they made even a small mistake.

Unless Shaw found the house.

The unease was greater and more unsettling than Erik had felt in seven years. He’d had nothing to lose, nothing to worry about. It had been freeing in a way, being completely on his own. He hadn’t wanted Shaw to find him when he wasn’t ready, so he’d moved frequently and kept up his guard, but… Even if Shaw had, he would have been ready.

Now. _Now_. Now there was Charles, this house, Mystique- _Raven_ , he reminded himself- and the children that Charles clearly loved so desperately. So many things suddenly there and present to lose if it all went wrong, if Sebastian Shaw decided to come back and finish what he’d started with Charles.

And that scared him, scared him in a way that he hadn’t thought he could be scared anymore. Going from having no one and nothing to lose to having seven people whose lives he needed to protect at all costs in less than six hours was overwhelming, to say the least… but not necessarily in a bad way. Having something to live for other than just vengeance and violence and rage would maybe be a good thing.

Erik found himself standing, settling his jacket carefully over Charles’ shoulders before heading for the door. He glanced briefly at the painting that hung above it, his heart constricting. Seeing their faces, seeing them laughing and happy and free in a way they had never been when he had known them, was wonderful. He let himself drink in the painting for a long moment, then continued down the hallway.

His gift touched locks, turned them on windows. He moved across the ground floor, noting possible exits and entrances as he silently prowled through the darkened house. He locked the doors, ensured that the windows were shut tightly and the ones that _could_ lock were locked. He had no intention of being caught unawares here, wanted plenty of warning before anything went down.

Charles had mentioned that they really only lived on the first floor, so Erik was careful to avoid the doors that were shut on that floor, not going into any rooms but instead feeling along the outer wall and locking windows. He wasn’t about to invade anyone’s privacy, but he wanted them all safe. Charles loved these children, and Erik refused to allow him to lose the happiness that he had clawed from all the damage Shaw had done.

The first floor was large and sprawling. There were several bedrooms, an extensive and somewhat-cluttered library, and three unused but maintained study rooms in addition to Charles’ official study. The kitchen was well-stocked and had a connecting dining room beside it, with a table with more places to sit than Erik could ever see reason for. There was a _precisely_ organized lab, so much so that it almost had to be Hank’s rather than Charles’, and a couple classrooms. On the boards were notes on chemical reactions, the civil rights movement, and an analysis of _The Tell Tale Heart_ by Edgar Allen Poe. Charles really did teach, Erik noted with amusement and a small flicker of what felt like pride.

He wandered through the house curiously, exploring and ensuring that everything was safely locked down. The basement possessed what looked like a bomb shelter, which was bizarre enough to give Erik pause. Well, he reasoned after a time, if it was old enough, there _had_ been a panic during the world wars that America could be attacked, and it made sense that rich people would create bunkers like this to protect themselves, if that should happen.

There was also an infirmary that was, thankfully, made of wood and had paintings on all the surfaces, completely different than any hospital-esque place he had ever been, a distinct lack of white sterility or pans of metal tools. Clearly there had been an effort there to distance the design from Shaw’s room, despite it being on a lower floor that Charles would rarely frequent. Raven’s doing, Erik mused to himself as he left the room, but whoever chose that, Erik was grateful to. He didn’t need reminding of that place, here.

In the basement was also an immensely large room with old, dusty mats that looked like they may once have been used for some sort of defense exercise, like a karate studio, and several storage rooms filled with odds and ends, random trinkets and furniture that hadn’t been used in years. There was additionally a wine cellar that was very well-stocked and locked up tight, though of course, locks never posed an issue for Erik. There was a security camera on that door, along with a note in Charles’ small, elegant script: _If I catch any of you breaking in here, you will regret your actions_. Erik chuckled at that and trekked back up the stairs.

The upper levels had clearly been used less than the ground floor and yet slightly more than the basement, likely due to the fact that Charles obviously couldn’t use the stairs (for some reason he hadn’t seen fit to install an elevator or ramp in the last seven years) and because, mutant or human, children tended not to like basements. Erik wondered at the lack of elevator for a moment- he doubted it was a money issue, so there was an underlying reason why Charles didn’t feel a need to have access to the upper floors. That was curious, and that thread of curiosity kept him going.

There were two bedrooms shut on the second floor that he passed by. He could feel Raven’s necklace in one, the other possessing what felt like an inordinate amount of earrings that hinted at the teenage girl, but the others had chosen rooms on the ground floor. It made sense that they wanted space from the boys, he decided absently, continuing along his search. Teenage boys were loud, and teenage girls liked their privacy. He wasn’t certain, really, how old Raven was. Her gift made it impossible to nail down, making her age nebulous, but regardless, he could understand not wanting to share a wall with any of the five males that resided in the house.

The second floor had more bedrooms than the first, at least five or six of them that were being unused as well as three studies. One of the studies was locked and was covered in a thick coat of dust, clearly having been left for longer than the seven years Charles and Erik had been separated.

A musty, disused air hung in the room as Erik walked in, the silence nearly oppressive. It reminded him of a tomb, the sensation of no one having entered for years reigning strong. He glanced around at the dusty encyclopedias and science journals that were on the shelves at the wall, crossed to the desk, looked into the drawers there. Pens, pencils, small notes and equations on papers in an unfamiliar handwriting. There was a framed picture of a boy on the desk, maybe five years of age, with Charles’ exuberant smile and happy blue eyes shining at the camera.

Erik looked at the picture for a long time, smiling despite himself. Charles had been an adorable little boy, all happiness and brightness and beauty. He had never thought about Charles as a child, but he would have guessed that the telepath had looked something like that, had he ever been asked. He set the picture back down carefully and left, locking the door again with a flick of his finger and continuing on his mission of mapping out and locking down the house.

The third floor was more abandoned still. More and more bedrooms, a dusty library (that was in addition to the well-used library on the ground floor, they _were_ a desperately literary family), what looked like an old exercise room that hadn’t been touched recently, a room with what had once been a functioning hot tub- the third floor didn’t seem like the best location for that- and, most interestingly, Charles’ old bedroom.

It unmistakably _was_ Charles’ room. There were, predictably, piles of books and papers everywhere, Charles’ usual chaotic and academic environment immediately marking this as his territory. Erik hadn’t realized that he’d had to have been moved after being released from Shaw, but, seeing that this room had been _six flights up_ and there was no elevator, that made sense and would have been necessary. His handwriting was scattered across the bits of academia, slightly clumsier and messier than his neat scrawl now. Papers on genetics, mutation, bio-engineering… it was all what Erik would have expected of the boy he had met so long ago.

Erik had expected less the way it looked… freshly abandoned. Aside from the dust, it was easy to believe a teenage boy had just darted out of the room. There was a sweatshirt abandoned on the bedpost with Oxford’s logo across the chest. The blankets were mussed as if someone had just jumped out of it. A book, halfway finished by the bookmark stuck neatly in the pages, was on the nightstand as if he was going to finish reading it in the morning. There were two picture frames beside the book, turned toward the bed, and Erik picked them up as he had the frame in the study, feeling slightly as if he were invading Charles’ privacy, but also incredibly curious and wanting to know.

The first picture was of Charles and Raven, her skin blue and shimmering in the sunlight. His arms were around his sister and he was beaming at the camera, bright and delighted despite the purple bruise that cut diagonally across the cheek that his ten year-old self had pressed to Raven’s. She looked equally happy, waving brightly to the camera, a cat caged in her other arm. It didn’t look particularly happy, which elicited a chuckle.

But Erik paused, looking at it more closely. He knew that there were some things that Charles didn’t talk about, and he _had_ noticed that Charles already had scars when they had met as teenagers, scars that he probably shouldn’t have. But… the bruise was telling, quiet confirmation without actual proof. Charles hadn’t mentioned it, he had never really said anything about his family, but certain moments in their relationship, certain quick movements that had started Charles more than they should have, came back quickly as Erik thought about it.

He set it back down and looked at the other image, taking a deep breath to calm the rattling of the metal bedframe. He could do nothing about it now, and he needed to not destroy the bed. Charles might want it someday, when and if they got more children to stay here.

This second picture was of just Charles, looking exactly like Twelve. He was wearing the Oxford hoodie that was to Erik’s left, and was standing in front of the campus itself, the beautiful spires of the buildings rising behind him, spires Erik had only been able to see once because being on the same grounds that Charles had loved so dearly had truly caused him pain. 

Charles’ left hand, captured in a cast, was raised to the camera and he was flipping it off with an oddly triumphant, nearly-wild, ecstatic sort of expression, as if he had just been awarded victory after a long fight. His right hand clutched what looked like it might be an acceptance letter, holding it tightly to his chest.

The defiance and happiness, the strange mix of emotions on the young telepath’s face, was intriguing, making Erik examine it closer to try and imagine what Charles had been thinking. He suspected, now more strongly than ever, that Charles had been abused at home. This photo had clearly been taken before Shaw had taken him. So maybe, then, this had been Charles’ first moment truly free and away from his family, the first moment he knew that he could be safe from the people who had hurt him.

Erik was tempted to stay a moment longer, to look further at the details of the life Charles had once lived, but he could feel the small metal hands of the watch on his wrist. He’d already left him sleeping on a desk for nearly two hours. He needed to go back. He could always return and further examine the room later.

He turned to head back down to the study and found himself face-to-face with another, inches away from a pair of tense, suspicious golden eyes set in a beautifully blue face. The eyes narrowed further. “What are you doing here?” Raven asked brusquely.

Erik watched her, interested. He had rather thought she would confront him at some point, but he hadn’t expected it now. “Locking the doors,” he said calmly. “And the windows, to make sure they’re safe. Checking entry points into the house. What are you doing?”

“Watching you,” she said shortly, crossing her arms. “Charles was beyond fucked up when he came back. He’s worked so goddamn hard to get back to who he is, he’s back from the _dead_. What do you want with him? Because if you’re going to put him back in that place, I’ll just put you in the ground myself. He doesn’t check my mind, he won’t know where you went. I’ll tell him you got scared off and left.”

Erik felt a smile cross his face. He believed her, too- Raven was a vicious creature. He’d seen her in action a few times, when they had worked a job together. She was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, and he had never seen her as protective over anything as she was over Charles.

Which was fair. Erik had also never been as protective of anything as he was over Charles.

“I won’t hurt him,” Erik promised. It was an easy promise, one that barely even had to be said. “My only plan now that I know he’s alive is to protect him and the children, and kill Shaw so there is one less thing that Charles needs to fear. I’m here to take care of him, Raven. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“And Delaney?” She almost snapped it, shoulders tight and tense. “Are you dropping the contract now?”

Erik ran a hand through his hair. The moment he’d seen Charles, he had completely forgotten about the job, the money, the contract, everything. Charles had been the only thing in the world as soon as Erik had realized he was back. “I probably should finish that contract,” he agreed finally, thinking reluctantly of leaving Charles alone. Just because they had been safe so far didn’t mean they would be still in the time it took to complete the contract, but he knew that was his natural paranoia speaking. “I can complete it at a later date.”

She relaxed slightly, a look of relief flickering over her face. “All right,” she allowed warily, sizing Erik up slowly. “Do it sooner rather than later.” She shifted her weight somewhat uncomfortably, glancing down the hall. “But don’t let Charles know. He’d be pissed at us.”

“He would,” Erik agreed, slightly amused. “What did Delaney do to you? Cheat?”

Oddly though, she didn’t look annoyed or embarrassed. There was a pinched, somewhat haunted look on her face and she rubbed her arms. “It’s not for me to say,” she stated finally. “It’s not my business. But last time they were friendly... Charles was on life support for two days after.” She shuddered. “And now Delaney’s inviting him to parties and shit again and I just-- it can’t happen again, not after all this time, he can’t drag Charles back down again.”

Rage. Absolute and complete rage the likes of which Erik hadn’t known directed at anyone other than Shaw rose in him, and Erik was vaguely aware that the doorknobs around him were crunching in on themselves. “I will take care of it,” he managed after he was able to get hold of himself again. “Delaney isn’t someone you need to worry about anymore, Raven. I will take care of it, and I’ll do what I can to shield it from Charles. He doesn’t usually go looking very deeply, anyway.” And if he did, most likely he wouldn’t really be _that_ angry, just deeply disappointed. Charles forgave everything and everyone— apparently including people who had almost killed him before.

But even if he was angry, it was worth it, to keep him safe.

“I could do it, but he’d suspect me.” Raven pressed her lips together briefly. “He made me promise once to leave him alone. We don’t break our promises to each other. I was fine with that after a bit, at least while they weren’t talking, but now that Delaney’s interested again… it’s too much of a risk. You are too, for that matter, but so far I don’t have any proof that you’re _intentionally_ bad for him.” She gave a sharp and pointed look at Erik.

Erik laughed, shaking his head at her. He understood this protectiveness, appreciated and approved of it, in fact. But in this particular instance, worry or fear was ridiculous. There was no one in the world safer from Erik Lensherr than Charles Xavier. “Listen to me, Raven,” he said, leaning against the wall and looking down at her. “I am as much a danger to him as you are. I could, in theory, hurt him by accident, but I would never do so on purpose, and I’m not sure I even could on accident.” He was so aware of where Charles was and what he was doing at all times, it was unlikely he’d drop something on him or hit him without realizing it. Even as he spoke, he could feel the soft chiming of Charles’ bracelet, his wheelchair, the sphere he’d left in his hand. None of it had moved. “Charles is the most important thing to me. There is nothing more important than taking care of him and the people he loves.”

“Don’t be lying,” she ordered, poking him sharply in the chest as she went to pass him. “I made weapons to put you down ages ago.”

Erik smiled, inclining his head. “Did that Hank of yours make them for you?” He’d been watching the two of them move around each other, and it was obvious that they were interested, but not how interested either was. “They’ll probably work, too. Charles talked for an hour about some of his inventions.”

“They do work,” she agreed, pausing to study him again. She took a deep breath. “God, I really hope you’re not secretly working for Shaw. Charles is smart, but he doesn’t catch everything.”

Erik laughed a little. “He doesn’t catch everything because he’s too polite to really dig deep, but I think he did with me. If he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t let me near the children. He would protect you all with his life.” Erik gave her a smile. 

She took a deep breath, then started heading down the stairs without another word. Erik couldn’t quite stop himself in time from calling her back, and she stopped on the steps, looking back at him. “What?” she asked, still somewhat unfriendly, and his mind flickered back to the pictures in Charles’ old room, to the blue-skinned child beaming against a bruised cheek.

“The pictures by Charles’ old bed,” he said after a moment, motioning up the stairs. “He’s got injuries in both. Normal childhood accidents?”

Her entire body tensed, muscles rolling back as she shifted her weight, her eyes leaving his. “No,” she said shortly, the word filthy and almost like a curse coming from her lips.

Erik nodded. That wasn’t a surprise- he had suspected it a long time ago, but knowing for sure hurt, somewhere in his chest. Charles was good and kind and patient, and deserved only to be treated with the same amount of kindness and respect he gave to everyone else. “Was it his mother or his father?” Erik had seen both, in his travels. People could be cruel, regardless of the gender.

“Sharon was a bitch, but a negligent one. Kurt was the real piece of work.” Her fingers tightened briefly at the railing on the stairs. “Cain wasn’t much better, though. But you should ask him if you want to know. It’s his business.” And then she turned, leaving him on the staircase.

Erik watched her go and held still for another moment, then slowly began fixing the doorknobs to calm himself. He had been given a lot to think about, but one thing at a time. The abuse, he would speak to Charles about eventually, when more time had passed, when he knew that it wouldn’t trigger Charles and upset him.

But Delaney...

 _Last time they were friendly, Charles was on life support for two days after._ No matter what she meant, Delaney was as good as dead. Erik wouldn’t allow someone who caused or assisted in Charles’ pain live a long and happy life. He didn’t know what exactly Charles had gone through, but he knew that it hadn't been good. Delaney, rather than helping someone Erik loved while they were in pain, had assisted Charles in spiraling deeper down. And that wasn’t going to happen. Erik would never let that happen.

He returned to the study, where Charles continued to sleep, although there was now a pinched, anxious sort of cast to his face. Erik leaned forward, resting a hand on his hair gently. “ _Schlaf_ ,” he whispered, stroking at the little stress lines between Charles’ eyebrows. “ _Schlaf, mein schöner mann_.” Charles _was_ still beautiful, still absolutely gorgeous, even slumped over a desk in a giant sweater with _fucking elbow patches_ , hair a mess, a crease on his cheek where he’d been sleeping on a book and had shifted in his sleep.

Erik had been in love with Charles when he had been nineteen years old. Charles had been the center of his world, the best thing in his life. He had lit Erik up inside-out, had changed the landscape of his world and his outlook in life in a way that couldn’t be changed or reversed, and once Charles had been gone, Erik hadn’t been able to deal. Apparently, Charles had been in a similar situation.

Charles needed to sleep in a real bed, and be more comfortable. Carefully, gently, Erik lifted him and carried him down the hall, mentally tugging the wheelchair with them and stepping inside the door Charles had disappeared into to put a sweater on when they had gotten home. He laid Charles on the bed and very slowly pulled off the sweater and unbuttoned the button-up, leaving Charles’ undershirt on.

He leaned down, untying Charles’ shoes and pulling them off carefully, leaving his socks and dress pants and belt alone. He positioned the wheelchair directly beside the bed- Erik couldn’t imagine not having his legs, but if he were in Charles’ position, the worst thing someone could do to him was put the chair out of his immediate reach. Erik never wanted Charles to feel like that, to feel powerless and uncertain of himself.

Erik sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket up around Charles and watching his face as he slept on, comfortable and safe. He was sleeping solidly enough to very nearly be concerning— Erik had moved him quite a bit and he hadn’t made a sound or woken once. From a strategic standpoint, having lived the kind of life that Erik had lived, it was deeply unsafe for Charles to let himself get to this point. He probably _was_ tired- it must have taken a lot of energy to command that many people to leave the room, to scan Erik’s mind the way that he had. He was probably exhausted. Erik smiled a little, tracing Charles’ eyebrow. He would have a conversation with Charles about pushing himself too much tomorrow. Control was integral to survival. Control and discipline.

He didn’t know anything for certain about the life of the man asleep beside him. He didn’t know for sure what life was going to hold for them, if they were going to be together or just friends or what form their relationship would take, exactly. And it didn’t really matter. What mattered was that for now, Charles felt safe with him and Erik would take care of him.

And unfortunately, Erik was not aware of any empty rooms. Charles had not seen fit to tell him, and Erik grimaced at the idea of accidentally walking into the room of the girl who had given him the Eyes when he’d walked in. Or any of the other children for that matter- he wasn’t about to give them ideas or scare them out of their wits and risk one of them exploding the house when they freaked out. No, he would stay here for tonight, and get his own room tomorrow.

He’d get at least one more night of falling asleep beside Charles, in case when he woke up, Charles decided that things were going to be very different from what they’d been.

He laid himself down carefully on the other side of the bed, setting his own shoes aside and keeping plenty of space between them, and Charles finally made a noise, a half-whimper as his hands twitched and reached for something clumsily on the bed.

“Hey,” Erik whispered, catching Charles’ hands. “It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here, you’re safe.”

Charles made a small noise, curling into a ball against Erik’s chest. Erik felt Charles’ mind brush his own— clumsily, sleepily, with a faint edge of happiness and exhaustion, and then it retreated and Charles was going slack again, fingers limp in Erik’s. Erik felt something in his chest ache and pinch, and he stroked Charles’ hair gently, carefully, not wanting to wake him, but wanting to comfort him in some way. Charles wanted to sleep curled up against him? That was fine. That was more than fine. He could fall asleep listening to Charles breathing quietly and peacefully, the best sound Erik had ever heard. It was evidence of Charles alive, it was glorious. Absolutely glorious.

He rearranged the blanket carefully over them both, then paused, his eyes catching on Charles’ left arm. It was bare now without the layers of sweater and button-up, his undershirt a T-shirt. And there, in the delicate crook of his elbow, were soft, rounded scars, bumping across the skin in a clumsy patchwork texture.

Erik lifted the arm carefully, studying the shapes there. He knew what those were, was very familiar with the scarring. So Charles had turned to drugs, at some point. He looked at the face of the sleeping man and stroked his hair back, Erik’s chest aching. “I’m so sorry, _liebe_ ,” he said quietly, gathering him closer against his chest. “I’ll take care of you now, it’s okay.”

He couldn’t blame him, would never blame him. They had both dealt with the pain and trauma in a different way. Erik had tortured and killed people. Charles had tortured himself and took a swing at slowly killing himself, according to the sheer number of marks.

_The last time they were friendly… Charles was on life support for two days after._

Erik closed his eyes, taking in a slow breath for three counts and back out for three counts, calming himself slowly and beating down the anger that threatened to manifest and destroy all the delicate metalwork on Charles’ bed. He would kill Delaney, he would protect Charles, and they would both be better.

Erik ran a hand down Charles’ arm, shaking his head a little. _You’re safe with me now, Charles,_ he thought at him quietly. _I won’t let anything happen to you now. Sleep. I’ll take care of all of your problems._

Delaney, and then Shaw, and if Charles’ parents were still somewhere in the world… they could be on the list, too. Erik would take care of whatever threatened the safety that Charles had worked so hard to build, and try to find a place for himself in the new life he’d make for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is from "Two," by Sleeping at Last.
> 
> Also, comments are better than candy, so feel free to drop us a note if you have any thoughts or feedback!


	5. Dreams for the World We’re Gonna Make: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of morning mansion activity!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goosenik: Hello, beautiful readers! We just wanted to start off with a shout-out to Eeirisrunna. She's given us chapter-by-chapter reactions and commentary, and honestly it's been incredible. Thank you so much for connecting with us and our story. I can't begin to convey to you how much those few minutes of your time and few words impacted my mornings. Life is rough, lovely soul, and you make it a bit softer. Charles sends all his love to you. (Or at least the amount that's not being given to Erik.)
> 
> Clarke: We have decided that we will begin to dedicate some of our chapters to some of our commenters, whose efforts brighten our day. Eeisrunna is one such reviewer. It’s wonderful to have someone who so loyally writes on every chapter, who showers us with encouragement and warmth in such a rough time, and loves our boys so deeply. Thank you for the happy feels! You make our day. <3 

“Charles, breakfast,” Raven called, banging on the door as she passed and drawing Charles out of sleep. The house was more or less quiet at the moment, although Charles could hear the distant babble of voices and minds in the kitchen as the children more than likely destroyed it. Having five teenagers in the house made him think that they needed to hire a maid. This happened every morning, and every morning Charles thought about it, but never did call in anyone.

He blinked awake slowly, then turned his face deeper into his pillow with a groan. Raven was back in town, and the kids were sure to be that much rowdier with her presence. He’d rather sleep in, it was so warm in his bed and he had been having the most heartbreakingly lovely dream…

He snuggled further against the warmth, then paused at the warmth and the soft breath against his hair. This wasn’t his pillow or blankets, it was an arm. Memory came back in a rush and Charles relaxed slowly, turning his face into Erik’s shoulder sleepily. They had been talking, and Charles had… fallen asleep? He remembered listening to Erik talk about Brazil... Had Erik carried him to bed? That was oddly embarrassing, that he’d fallen asleep in front of him. Had Erik settled in beside him? They were both fully clothed and Charles had complete trust in him besides; he knew that nothing had happened without his consent.

Charles held still, holding the moment and letting it stretch out longer. He wasn’t great in the mornings anyway, his brain didn’t always snap into awareness the way Erik’s always had. He found himself thinking blearily about breakfast, wondering if Erik still liked eggs and bacon. And why did Erik smell so good? Well, perhaps he’d put on cologne for the party… He studied Erik’s face, able to do so without feeling too terribly awkward about it since the other man was asleep. He’d gotten older, his face sharper, a tiny hint of stubble across his cheeks. There was a new scar on the edge of his jawline, too, though it was old enough to have turned white...

He decided finally, reluctantly, that it would be wrong to sustain the moment any longer, that it was strange to sleepily stare at his friend for too much longer. If Erik woke and caught him staring at him, it would be even more embarrassing than having fallen asleep in the first place.

_Erik_ , Charles murmured silently, pressing gently on his mind.

Erik was awake immediately, eyes flicking open and mind instantly aware of the world around him. He was tense for a moment, studying Charles as he made sense of what was happening and where he was, and then relaxed into the bed with the most beautiful smile Charles had yet seen on his face. “Hello, Charles,” he said, warmth and contentment and peace washing through him. Even though it wasn’t the first time Erik had used his name, Charles felt himself smile. He’d never been able to hear Erik say it, had always regretted that, had always wondered what it would have sounded like.

It sounded like home, like warmth, like a reassuring rumble that reached his very bones.

“Hey.” Charles reached out, tracing his hand across the muscles of Erik’s arm just to touch him, to watch his own fingers ripple over ink and sinew. He muffled a tiny yawn into Erik’s shoulder, the next words almost slurring together as his foggy brain continued to try to process. “How’d you sleep?”

Erik smiled, relaxing into Charles’ hand. “Very well,” he said comfortably. “I apologize for probably startling you when you woke up, me being here was likely surprising. But I didn’t know which rooms were free and I shudder to think of the children’s reactions to me walking into their rooms, and you don’t have a couch in here, so…”

Charles grimaced, imagining Angel’s reaction had Erik walked into her room. She had _mostly_ been jesting the night before, playing a card in her deck to keep up appearances and play, but she did genuinely find Erik attractive and Charles’ wasn’t fully sure what she would do if Erik called her bluff. Either she would go with it, or she would attack him and genuinely go for blood. The others would have been confused or alarmed, and Raven probably would have attacked him.

“I understand,” he assured Erik, scrubbing at his eyes clumsily in an effort to push himself more toward awareness. “I don’t mind-- sorry I fell asleep. I can’t believe I did.”

Erik watched him, eyes warming. “It’s all right. You’re very cute when you fall asleep on people. You did the first time I showed you our library, too. Somehow _War and Peace_ hitting the ground didn’t wake you up, as if we couldn’t have broken out of there with just that giant tome.”

Charles paused, blinking at him, completely thrown by this parallel and the somewhat flirtatious nature of Erik’s teasing. “It’s not cute,” he protested lamely, feeling his face warm and a smile cross his face despite himself. “It’s a nuisance, do you have any idea how many times Raven’s had me checked for narcolepsy? Three.”

Erik laughed, rolling over with a yawn and stretching high above his head, then relaxing back into the bed. The tattoo on his arm, an intricate tribal design made of overlapping navy, greens, and blacks, nearly shimmered with the motion. “Terrible,” he chuckled.

“You have ink,” Charles noted, feeling a tiny crease in his brow as he reached out to touch the edge of it again. There was something almost familiar about it. “It suits you.”

Erik smiled back, more relaxed than Charles had yet seen him, watching his finger trace the lines. “I have a few, actually. I like tattoos. I can show them to you if you want.” He rested his head on the pillow with a smile. “Your bed is incredibly comfortable. Much better than mine.”

“Well, you’re staying in a hotel that you haven’t even bothered to unpack in,” Charles pointed out with a grin. He propped himself up on an elbow, smiling down at him. It was nice to be lying beside him like this. They felt on-par, as if Charles weren’t handicapped and Erik weren’t perfect. He thought briefly about asking to see the other tattoos, realized immediately that doing so would require Erik’s shirt to be removed, and decided with a dry mouth that he had embarrassed himself already by falling asleep. Ogling Erik in bed would be less than impressive.

Unlike Erik’s definitively muscled chest would be.

Charles cleared his throat and his mind _hard_ , brushing his hair back out of his face. “You hadn’t unpacked. Were you planning on moving soon? Do you like the relocation, or just dislike staying still?”

Erik shook his head, resting his hands on his stomach and moving a little to get more settled. “I don’t want to be caught unaware. If I stay in one place too long, if I use my real name by accident or if someone sees my face and Emma sees it in their mind, he could come without me knowing. So I have just kept moving. After a while in the same place I feel uncomfortable, anyway. So I move.”

“I don’t know if Emma’s with Shaw anymore.” Charles licked his lips, and Erik’s eyes tracked the motion. “Not ostensibly, anyway. I ran into her a few years ago.”

“Really?” Erik considered this, rubbing at his jaw. Charles could almost feel him thinking about something quietly, but pushing it down. When they’d been teenagers, Erik had allowed him into his mind without question, giving him unfettered access to even the deeper levels. It felt like an invasion, now, after all the years of Raven chastising Charles for pushing too deeply, to look at anything people were not actively thinking about. Charles made a conscious effort _not_ to go searching for anyone else’s thoughts most of the time, and Erik shouldn’t be the exception. 

Even though he desperately wanted to know what Erik was thinking.

“Like I said, she told me your name,” Erik continued, completely unaware of the moral dilemma that Charles was struggling with. “That was something, at least.”

“Mm. I let her leave, I told her to stay away from me and mine in the future.” Charles fiddled with the edge of his pillow, thinking about this as he pulled himself firmly back to surface thoughts and the conversation at hand. “I don’t know her goals, I chose not to break her shields last time. If she comes for me again, I’ll see what she knows. But she didn’t have Shaw around, and they were pretty inseparable before.” He sat up, looking around for his wheelchair. “Hank theorized that Cerebro might be up and running by this weekend.” He considered. “Maybe we can find him and I can put some of the fear of them discovering you at ease. He’s already up, I can ask him.”

Erik was already moving as Charles looked around, and Charles smiled at his attire as Erik got off the bed. Although he’d taken off the jacket and button-up, he was in an undershirt, suit pants, and socks. It has always amused Charles for some reason when people were halfway into formal clothes; their under clothing was always just so _un_ formal.

Erik repositioned the wheelchair that had been against the bed over to where Charles could more easily get it and smiled a little. “I’m sure you don’t _need_ help,” he told Charles easily, “But I can help, if you’re a little sleepy still. I may remember a few instances of you maybe not being the _most_ graceful thing in the morning.” His lips twitched and Charles caught the flicker in his mind, a younger Charles falling over piles of books clumsily in his hasty and bleary-eyed state.

“You wound me,” Charles said, feeling a smile tug up his lips. “I… yes, that would be fine.”

Charles wasn’t used to asking for help or accepting it. If anything, the chair had made him all the more aggressively self-sufficient. He was not weak. He was battered, traumatized, unhealthy, intelligent, motivated, and fucked up in turns, but he was _not_ weak and as such would do almost anything to stall the moments where he had to admit that, at times, he _felt_ weak.

But this was Erik, with no scorn or pity in his mind, asking to help Charles, and it was shockingly hard to say no.

Erik lifted Charles carefully with an arm beneath his arms and behind his back and the other beneath his knees, setting him in the chair, then grinned a little, brushing Charles’ hair back. “I'll be honest with you,” he said in a low voice. “That was just an excuse to touch you.” His eyes warmed and he straightened, walking over to where his own clothes were and pulling his button up back on. “I need to get my clothes. I can’t walk around in a full suit.” His nose wrinkled and Charles remembered back when they were teenagers the way Erik disparaged of suit-wearers and formality in general. It likely originated due to the fact that Shaw had always been dressed impeccably.

Charles felt heat brush across his skin, vanishing under his collarbone as Erik pulled away from him, and he swallowed. “I… understand.” He cleared his throat hard, dragging a hand through his hair in an attempt to make it less unruly, to cool his skin. He had looked for an excuse to touch him. That was… -- _amazingintoxicatingthrillingpromising_ \-- good. That was a good sign. “Logan left some clothes here that might fit you. Just shirts, really, since you’re taller.”

_Logan? Boyfriend? Clothes in bedroom_ \- The words in Erik’s mind were tinged with regret and a little embarrassment, but he snorted at Charles instead of expressing it, putting on a very good show and trying not to think about the fact that Charles might have a boyfriend, which was… interesting and promising as well. While Erik might not be thinking about it, per se, the ripples of unease and maybe even unhappiness it caused weren’t exactly easy to miss. “I’m taller than _you_ , too, Charles, I don’t know how that helps.” He paused. “What do the children call you? What’s your last name?”

“Xavier. They call me whatever they like. Professor, sometimes Professor X. Alex once called me ‘Wheels,’ and he thought it was very funny until Hank punched him in the stomach.” Charles chuckled, crossing the room to his dresser and pulling out a sweater and a pair of jeans. He crossed to the closet, found one of Logan’s workout shirts, and tossed it to Erik. “Logan gets blood in these a lot, has me clean them out when I do laundry.” It was the most clarification he could provide on their relationship without revealing just how closely he’d been watching Erik’s surface thoughts.

And what _would_ he say? He and Logan weren’t exclusive, weren’t committed, weren’t anything. Logan was an incredibly strong mutant, an attractive one, and he had anger issues, which unfortunately (and as evidenced by Erik) Charles had always found attractive. There wasn’t really an easy or accurate way to sum up their relationship, because it was less of a relationship and more of a string of flings. Charles cleaning the blood out of Logan’s shirts was, funnily, a pretty accurate metaphor for their relationship.

“Hm.” Erik idly considered tossing Alex over the banister for the joke, but decided it was a bad idea. “Thank you. This is Logan’s? I didn’t meet him yesterday.” He was trying very hard not to think about anything regarding Logan as he pulled off his button up and his undershirt as well, but Charles noted a lightning-quick image of Erik bumping a shadowy figure over a rail, and then Erik quickly suppressed it, annoyed with himself. Charles noted with some amusement that the imaginary Logan was tall. He was distracted from this by the glimpse of other tattoos as Erik pulled on Logan’s old, ratty shirt, the ink vanishing under faded cotton.

Charles averted his eyes quickly, trying to ignore the way his skin was suddenly too-hot, his clothes too tight. Logan was shorter and more muscled, but the shirt fit Erik well enough, pulling up just here or there to show scarred, muscled abdomen. He’d collected a lot more scars since they had lost each other- but then, so had Charles. “Charles Xavier,” Erik said thoughtfully, looking around at Charles thoughtfully, and Charles found himself watching him, oddly breathless at the sound of his full name. “I like it.”

“Thanks, I’m fond of it. It was about three months after we got out that I was able to say it out loud again.” Charles gave a wry smile, pulling his shirt off quickly. He focused on his button-up first, then pulled his sweater on overtop it. It was old, weathered and brown with the Oxford crest embroidered over one sleeve. It was one of his favorites, although Raven teased him mercilessly about the elbow patches. 

“You still don’t know how to buy sweaters that fit you,” Erik said, examining Charles fondly, pain ringing through his thoughts at his own memory of how hard it had been to say _his_ own name after. “I ask you, do you have anything that _isn’t_ Oxford? And an additional question- could that sweater be more ratty?”

“It could be.” Charles grinned back at him, the gesture safe now that Erik was more clothed and casual. It was maybe not a good idea to have Erik around half-naked. “And yes, I have plenty of clothes that aren’t. These ones are just my favorites.”

He tried not to let himself read too much into Erik’s words, his flirtation. He knew that he was more inclined to believe them just because he _wanted_ to believe him, knew that logic was still there underneath Charles’ natural inclination to take Erik’s interest at face-value. He knew that Erik wanted Charles. Charles was someone he had cared about deeply, his first lover and his first equal of a sort. Charles had made him hope and had brought light into his world… and then he had ‘died,’ immortalized and idealized forever as this perfect being.

To not only not be perfect, but to be in this chair on top of that, with the scars on his arm an eternal testament to how far he’d fallen… 

It was a ridiculous notion to assume that Erik would see him in any sexual light. Charles was not the boy he had been, leaning over a chess set to press his hands to Erik’s skin. Charles couldn’t hook his legs around Erik’s back, couldn’t cross the room to kiss him, couldn’t… be equal. And, even if Erik ignored that realization for now, it would come to him later. As it had for so many of the others Charles had seen throughout the years. It was why he and Logan had their standing arrangement, because strings unattached were so easier for both of them to bear.

“You’ll have more time to get to know them today,” Charles reflected as he turned his mind from this and considered a pair of sweatpants that looked like they _wouldn’t_ be capris on Erik. They’d always been long on Charles. “I think you’ll like them. Angel reminds me of Zasha. As for Logan, he comes and goes, similar to Raven. I haven’t seen him in a few months now, so he’s due for a visit.” And wouldn’t _that_ be uncomfortable. “He’s a good guy, although somewhat rough around the edges, and I think you’re going to absolutely love him. He has a metal skeleton.” Charles grinned up at Erik, offering the fact cheerfully.

“Lord help us if there are two Zashas.” Erik shook his head with a fond smile, taking the sweatpants and pulling a hoodie out of the closet, a dark blue one that Charles privately thought would be gorgeous with his green eyes and dark-blonde hair. “A metal skeleton, hm?” His eyes lit as he considered… of all things, using Logan as a _javelin_ that could attack where it was thrown, but he was pleased that Logan was not someone who stayed here often. Coupled with his suspicion that Charles and Logan had been together, the idea of throwing him like a javelin was even more intriguing and attractive to Erik.

Charles gaped at him. “ _Absolutely not._ He’s a living person, Erik, you can’t _throw him._ Alex would be quite depressed-- he hero-worships the man. It’s the motorcycle, he’s enamored.” He sighed heavily, but offered a smile. “He’s not a threat.” _To you, or us, or the school._ He didn’t vocalize those words, but the nuance remained.

Erik nodded, taking the sweatpants that Charles offered him. “Well, I’m glad the kids like him. It’s important for them to have adults around that they trust. And you know, my idea might work. If he’s got a metal skeleton, he’s durable. He’d be alright.” He cleared his mind of jealousy and worry about Logan- it was none of his business, he told himself firmly. Charles could do whatever he wanted. Charles realized, a little guiltily, that he was _maybe_ looking past surface thoughts and pulled back as Erik focused back on him. “I’m going to take a shower before I meet the children properly so I don’t smell like wine and mercenary,” he informed Charles, giving him a quick smile as he changed the subject. “Where is it?”

“Down the hall, to the left.” Charles gestured and watched him go, then glanced at himself in the mirror. His reflection looked back, impassively and vaguely disgusted by his bending of his own moral code, and he dragged a hand down his face. Charles changed into his jeans, a clumsy sort of task that drove deeper the sense of wrongness about the situation he was in. Erik was here. Beautiful, sharp, and whole. And Charles was… a mess.

It would hurt so much more if Erik realized that fact _after_ he touched Charles. If Charles could feel the discomfort in his mind, it would break him in a way Shaw never had been able to. It was better to stay clear and clean of that beautiful mind, to not look for answers that he couldn’t handle. Yes, there was the chance that Erik _did_ want him. But if he didn’t, or if he did and then took it back… No.

It was best not to indulge Charles’ fantasies of Erik completely accepting the chair, the limitations, the life it required. 

Aside from that, it was entirely possible that Erik would get in over his head if he began a relationship with Charles. He had developed no true or lasting emotional connections in the last seven years. He had no _friends_ , per se, just work associates he trusted to help him in his job. He didn’t see them unless they were necessary for a contract. Erik wasn’t used to staying in one place, wasn’t used to being vulnerable, wasn’t used to caring. Even if Erik could fully accept Charles and fully want Charles, that didn’t change the depth of his trauma or his likelihood of self-sabotage. He would regret that, once he had ruined things out of pure panic and instinct to get away.

Charles’ ability was still spinning, thrilled with the presence of his anchor, and that was probably influencing things, too, but it didn’t change the situation. It was best to keep his eyes and thoughts to himself, to keep their relationship more pure and less… hungry. Charles needed to simply remain grateful that Erik was alive, was healthy, was willing to stay. He had his best friend back in the world again. Hank was lovely, but he couldn’t quite relate, and Raven was his sister. But Erik was… Erik. He needed to keep him around.

Charles shook the thoughts away and wheeled down the hallway quickly, glancing into rooms as he passed. Alex and Darwin were playing pinball on the antique machine that Charles had gotten them for the family room. Raven and Angel were flipping through magazines together, and Angel’s tubetop showed off her beautiful mutation. Charles felt a smile at that and glanced around, finding Hank at the table working on Cerebro’s schematics.

“I thought we’d try it out this weekend,” he said, and Hank turned to look at him quickly, delight and apprehension in his face. 

“Really? But you said-“

“I have faith that if any part of you thought you were going to fry me, you wouldn’t have suggested it.” Charles laughed. “And besides… There is need of the outcome it can provide.” He hated the strain in Erik’s voice when he had spoken of being caught unawares by Emma or Shaw. He hated the constant stress of keeping an eye on the horizon for any threats, clenching every muscle in his body any time he took the kids off the property. He no longer looked around every corner to find Shaw waiting for _him_ , but the fear of him coming for the children had been nonstop for the last year. No, Shaw needed to be locked down. Cerebro would enable that.

Raven moved to Charles, searching his face as if she was looking for the answer to a question, then smiled a little, as if she had found it. “Hank, please don’t fry my brother,” she said, elbowing him. “I’d like to keep him.” She leaned down, kissing Charles’ cheek. _I will destroy him if he hurts you_. She projected at Charles, then smiled as she pulled back. _Max- I mean Erik, not Hank. Well, maybe Hank too, if he fries you._

She probably would, too, Charles thought with an internal grimace. Raven loved Charles with all the desperation of someone who had spent a large portion of life with no one else to love. It was almost similar to the level of dedication Erik had always shown for him for the same reason. She adored Charles, and had been an absolute mess when he had finally managed to come home after Shaw’s abduction- she had never stopped looking for him throughout the months he had been gone. And then, in the two years thereafter… 

She was fiercely protective, especially after all that. Perhaps even a little _too_ protective at times, Charles had to admit. It had definitely gotten worse after Shaw. She had grown up a lot since then, after helping live in his head at times to sort out everything and sitting up with him when he woke with screaming nightmares. She had relaxed though, progressed to the point where she felt comfortable jaunting off on her own for a while at a time, although she checked in every day or two, ensuring that he was safe. Charles was relieved that she felt comfortable enough to leave him, that she trusted he was far enough in recovery that it was safe to do so. It was more than he deserved.

_You’re worried. What’s wrong?_ She sat next to Hank, watching Charles as Hank assured her of his safety measures, and rested her leg fully against Hank’s, hoping slightly to bother him a little. She liked it when Hank got flustered; Charles had learned this and tried _very_ hard not to focus on the flickers between the two as Hank cleared his throat nervously, his voice slightly higher when he spoke.

Charles only half-listened as Hank assured her that the electrical short problem had been solved. He had faith in Hank’s intelligence. It was a familiar kind of faith, the trust that had once led to Charles peering down an elevator shaft with trepidation but not terror, to Charles waiting for Alex to test out his power on the statues. This trust had never let Charles down before, and he felt sure that it wouldn’t let him down this time. 

Charles touched the links of his bracelet, turning them and twisting them around his wrist slowly. Erik had said that it was these that have saved him in the end- he’d thought Charles was a trick until he felt these links, this metal. _Nothing_ , Charles assured Raven quickly. _I’m just thinking out the logistics of this trial run is all._

She raised an eyebrow. _You don’t have to tell me everything, Charles. But don’t lie to me. We don’t lie to each other._ It was true. Even though she hadn’t given him information about her side job, she had never lied to him about when she was leaving to do a job. Charles never knew the details, but she’d tell him how long to expect her gone and whereabouts she was going. Trust was a foundation in their relationship.

_We don’t lie to each other._ He and Erik had said something similar, at Hallow Hall. 

Raven looked back at Hank, giving him an unfairly bright smile. “I know you’re smart,” she told him, patting his arm and letting her fingers linger there. “You are the second-smartest person I know, and the two of you together can do whatever you put your minds to, I just want to make sure you’re not just excited about the idea. Like the last time.” She eyed Charles. “When you guys decided that you _definitely_ could create a harness for Alex’s power, and blasted a hole in my bedroom instead?”

“It was entirely functional, the calibration was just slightly off,” Charles pointed out to her with a laugh and unerring accuracy. He felt his mind brush another, unconsciously reaching for the lighthouse of Erik’s mind, and turned his head to watch Erik come into the room. Angel let out a low, appreciative coo from her place on the couch, and Hank gathered up his papers quickly.

Charles blinked as he heard fear flicker through Hank’s mind, directly regarding Erik’s presence here. He was afraid Erik would take his research? It was both an understandable idea and a preposterous one. Erik had no interest in research, but Hank had experienced his work being stolen from him before.

_It’s not like that,_ Charles assured Hank softly, who offered a sheepish smile in return as Erik moved over to stand beside them. Erik inclined his head at Angel and Hank. “Hello,” he said to the group, not looking at Angel particularly. 

“I cannot believe I had you working for me for all those years and didn’t know you were Erik.” Raven eyed him, still angry at herself and embarrassed, although you wouldn’t know it to look at her. “ _Max_ , of all things to call yourself. You’re not as cute as I thought you’d be, actually. You grew up weird, that’s why I didn’t recognize you from the painting.” She also rarely, if ever, looked at it, since it reminded her that Charles had been taken away. She had assured me that she was glad he’d had people to talk to, people he liked, but she hated the reminder that he had been in that place at all and that it had cut him so deeply. Charles had only seen her look at it once.

Erik raised an eyebrow, a smile playing around his lips but not forming. “Well, if you’d paid attention properly you would have seen the resemblance anyway.”

“Erik,” Charles chastised lightly, arching an eyebrow at him, and Erik inclined his head, taking the rebuke and changing his tactic slightly.

“You’ve had a lot going on,” he relented. “And you’re not wrong, I do look very different these days. With your gifts, I imagine you notice differences more than similarities, so you can replicate them well.”

“Watch it.” She pointed at him with a threatening finger, then gestured, some of her anger dissolved a bit. “That’s Angel behind you, since I’m sure _you_ didn’t pay attention either, and this is Hank. Angel helps Alex blow stuff up. Hank and Charles do research and build things together. ” She grinned. “They’re the brains of the outfit, Angel and I are the beauty, and Alex, Sean, and Darwin are the idiots.”

“Really.” Erik looked back to Hank in mild interest after eyeing Angel with some trepidation, considering _blowing things up_ to be a problem, but a problem for another time. “What kinds of things? I was never interested in creating anything myself, really, but I liked to see the way things are put together. It helps with my gift.”

“I engineer, primarily, but I get involved in whatever else my designs require.” Hank pushed his glasses up on his nose, accepting Charles’ assurance that Erik was to be trusted with the details. And he was- Charles could tell that Erik was merely interested in generalities and what things could do, but not in claiming credit or getting money. “Right now we’re working on Cerebro, but before that it was a stabilizing harness for Alex, a flight suit for Sean, and a plane.” His eyes slid to Charles with longing. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We have no purpose for our own jet, Hank. We’re a _school_. I agree that your design is brilliant, but where would we even put it? Beneath the basketball courts?” Charles laughed at the thought and Hank grinned a little.

“There’s always purpose for a jet. We could use a jet.” Erik’s eyes unfocused as he ran through scenarios in his head where it would be useful and Charles frowned at him. Not one of them was appropriate for having it near their students, since most of them involved killing Shaw or one of his cohort. “We _could_ put it beneath the basketball courts, if you had the space below. It could hinge along the center line and you’d never notice it.”

“ _Professor._ ” Hank’s head whipped to look at Charles, who let out a laugh, helpless.

“If we get Cerebro to work and make it through the first few trial runs without killing anyone, then yes. That sounds fine.”

Alex whooped from the doorway. “We’re getting our own jet? Hank, if you can fly me to Hawaii whenever I want, I won’t put shit in your shoes for a week.” He made finger guns at Hank and winked at Angel. “Girl, you wanna bring that fine self of yours in here and thrash Darwin? He’s cheating again.”

“He’s never the one who cheats, it’s always you.” She rolled her eyes and got up, following him out to the family room. He grinned, following her. Alex was a handful and always had been since the moment Charles had brought him here, but he had a good heart. Said heart was currently trying to decide what he wanted to do about the crush he was beginning to develop on Angel. Charles had heard pieces of this throughout the past few weeks-- even though he tried to give his students privacy, Alex, unfortunately, had a very strong imagination.

“Well there you go,” Raven said, shooting Hank a grin, his mind a whirl of schematics and excitement. He didn’t notice the flirtation in her shoulder-nudge. “Now you’ll be super motivated to make sure you finish it.”

“Cerebro is the amplification machine you mentioned,” Erik checked, and Charles nodded. “You’re testing it out soon?” A thread of concern flickered through Erik, worrying about safety and potential repercussions of a machine like that being hooked into Charles’ mind and powers.

Good Lord, he was as bad as Raven.

“It’s going to be fine.” Charles waved a hand. “He fixed the shorting-out problem, which leaves the main consequences as burnout or migraines.”

“Or seizures,” Hank offered absently, looking through his notes quickly as his brain continued to build, to create, performing rapid-fire calculations about the jet. Erik stared at him. “But those would be non lethal and I do have some basic medical training, it shouldn’t cause any lasting damage… Professor, you’re sure you won’t let me shave your head? The readings with the electrodes-”

“Under no circumstances will I be bald, I would rather have a seizure,” Charles informed him severely.

_Don’t let him shave your head,_ Erik agreed, but leaned back against the wall, considering. “I don’t know about risking a seizure. With the damage he already has, a seizure, even if it’s non-fatal, could create more damage. I’m not sure that it would be worth it, to be honest.”

_The damage he already has._ Charles ignored the sting in those words. “It’s not like I’m going to fall down and hit my head, Erik.” He twisted his bracelet around his wrist slowly.

“It would be an absolute worst-case scenario anyway, I think it would take prolonged use to cause anything like that. This first run is going to be just ten minutes. You want to do it today?” Hank focused on Charles, who nodded.

Maybe Shaw’s shields couldn’t hold through amplification. Or Emma’s, if Shaw’s could. And once they found him… The children would be safe, and Erik could rest.

Maybe then he could stay.

“Ten minutes today sounds good. We can see how it goes and try a longer trial tomorrow, step it up gradually.”

Erik pressed his lips together, clearly as unhappy as Raven was about it, but stayed silent, musing over the uses for Cerebro and how it could help find Shaw, stop his destruction. Charles’ bracelet gave his wrist a comforting squeeze as Erik flicked his fingers at him, and Raven stood.

“Let’s go eat,” she said. “I’ll feel better when I know you’ve both eaten and can think straight.”

“You wound me,” Charles muttered, leaning back in his chair with a smile at Erik, who somewhat reluctantly returned the gesture. _Do you want to see Cerebro?_ Charles asked him silently, and Erik nodded slowly. _After breakfast, then,_ Charles decided, and settled in to eat the eggs that Raven was presenting to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title this week is, of course, from "A Million Dreams" from The Greatest Showman.


	6. I Couldn’t Help But Ask for You to Say It All Again: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles uses Cerebro and then our boys play chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had a lot of comments last time and it was so lovely! If y'all have any thoughts, feedback, or questions... you know what they say. Comments are better than candy. We love y'all dearly and hope you like this bit of fic progression!

“I haven’t been in to look at it for a few days,” Charles noted to Erik as Hank led them across the estate’s grounds, toward a rounded building at the back of the property. His head turned slightly toward Hank, eyebrows raising. “Oh, really? That’s an excellent idea.” Charles smiled, pleased with some thought Hank had considered, and then looked up at Erik, seeming to dismiss the thought for a moment and continue on with their prior discussion. “Henry has been planning and designing Cerebro for almost three months now.”

“Is that so?” Erik looked around, on the whole pleased with the grounds. They were open and airy, nothing like the grounds surrounding Hallow Hall. It felt like a place where people could live, not where they would be locked up and terrified. He had worried for a moment, when Charles had admitted to living in a mansion with students, that it _would_ in fact bring up memories, but so far, there were none to be had here. It all looked and felt too much like Charles. “Impressive. So the goal is to amplify?”

“Kind of like an echo chamber for telepathy,” Hank agreed enthusiastically. “Or like speaking into a megaphone, maybe… the theory is that if we could project Charles’ ability and stretch it out, he would connect to more minds than he can now. His reach is incredible as-is— he can feel half of New York City _without_ Cerebro, and that’s over four million people. If we could double that, quadruple that… or expand geographical area, _that_ would be truly impressive because then it wouldn’t matter how many minds he’s hooked into.”

“Hooked into is an aggressive phrase,” Charles noted mildly, brow creasing very slightly. “It would be the same as it is now, yes? Where they aren’t affected by my hearing them?”

“Yes,” Hank assured him quickly, walking up the ramp to the building to hold the door open for them. “It shouldn’t hurt anyone so long as your ability holds steady and doesn’t- erm. Well, suicide, which would probably take some minds down with you. But your anchor is here, so that’s such a low statistically possibility that it’s nearly impossible. Your control is too good and you have him to ground you, so we should be fine. It’s safe, Professor, I’m sure of it. You won’t hurt anyone but yourself, and that would just be burnout.”

Charles frowned hard at him, but didn’t further protest. Erik blinked, looking around at Charles in surprise. “Your anchor? What’s that?” He had never heard of such a thing, but it made sense that there would need to be something to ground a telepath, to bring them back to reality and who they were.

Although… Hank had said _he_.

Hank and Charles exchanged a brief glance. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t know what it was back then,” Charles said as he rolled his shoulders back. “It’s a term only empaths and telepaths use, for the most part.” He considered for a heartbeat, seeming to lean into the academic view of the conversation rather than the personal one. 

“Telepaths traditionally have a very high suicide rate,” Charles said finally, frankly, not yet wheeling himself into the building. “Part of it is thinking we’re crazy before realizing that we’re actually mutants. Part of it is the destruction of our relationships— often family and partners can’t cope with you knowing everything they’re thinking and feeling. But mostly it’s the sheer _sound_ , the constant overstimulation. So many voices, so many thoughts and feelings all pressing in on you. It’s like… like walking through a crowded party. Bodies, smells, the music, the voices, the lighting, the motion, it’s all very _present_. The stronger the telepath, the harder it is to cope long-term with this, because you hear more of it.”

Erik watched Charles’ face as he mused on what this would be like, to be a telepath. He had asked Charles a few times when they were young, but Charles hadn’t really been able to explain it. He had certainly never met another telepath other than Emma at that point. 

Not to mention that Erik had no scope for it. When he was surrounded by thousands of pounds of metal, it was comforting, even dizzyingly powerful. Never exhausting or overwhelming. Being surrounded by his own power was a great thing for Erik. He hadn’t really considered what it would be like, to be surrounded by people who you couldn’t tune out at all. “That sounds like it could easily overwhelm someone,” he agreed. “I can understand why that rate would be high.” His heart hurt at the idea of a tiny Charles manifesting and thinking he was crazy for hearing people’s thoughts. “When did you manifest?”

“I can’t remember not being able to hear the thoughts of others.” Charles looked up at him calmly. “I didn’t manifest at puberty, it must have been birth or infancy.”

Erik stared at him. It would be bad enough to manifest at puberty or young adulthood as a telepath, to have to adjust to that, but to have that gift _always?_ Most mutants manifested at puberty or a little earlier; it was pretty rare that they manifested in toddlerhood or childhood. There were almost none who manifested before that, as far as he knew. “And your parents, how did they deal with that?”

“My father dealt well with it while he was alive. My mother less so.” He shrugged. “I didn’t have an anchor for a long time- my mutation was weaker, I was used to it, and my control was excellent for the most part. There are ways around having one even for adults, and some people make it work without ever having an anchor. Emma, for example, is quite strong and doesn’t utilize one. The point remains, however, that telepaths often live short and mentally unhealthy lives. They turn to other methods of coping if they don’t find anchors.” He rubbed the inside of his elbow briefly, perhaps unconsciously, and Erik kept his eyes on Charles’ face. He wanted to talk about the drug abuse at some point, but not now.

“For those of us who _do_ find an anchor...” his lips curved up in a smile. “They hold you steady. Their minds are such that they can drown out the other noises, quell the side-effects and stop the party, as it were. They keep us sane. It’s a bit of a point of contention amongst the psionic community, actually. Some people believe that anchors are pre-destined, almost like soulmates. Other people think that they’re just particularly intriguing minds that telepaths can’t help but be drawn to.”

So an anchor, then, was someone who kept a telepath sane and healthy, who helped them find their way back to who they needed to be. Someone like Emma, who had never had one, was fine… but it occurred to Erik slowly that if you grew to _depend_ on an anchor and then lost them… it could be and actually _would_ be absolutely devastating.

Charles’ lips curved up very slightly, a grim echo of a smile. “Indeed,” he agreed quietly.

“Generally a telepath will only get one due to how intensely connected they become,” Hank volunteered, and Charles shot him a quick look, his slight frown returning.

“Thank you, Henry.”

Things clicked into place and Erik looked between them, startled. “I’m your anchor,” he said, marveling at the sheer responsibility and awe of the idea. “When we were young, I became your anchor and then… we got lost.” Charles’ problems afterward made much more sense now- he had been left half-dead in the snow, had woken up needing a wheelchair, found the house in ruins and had discovered the bodies of people he had loved, and had lost his anchor, all at the same time.

No wonder he had turned to the coping methods he had. 

“Yes,” Charles admitted, whether to the thought or to Erik’s spoken words, Erik couldn’t tell. “I’ve never found another mind like yours. Nothing and no one else works quite the same way for me, and I’ve heard others say the same about their own anchors. I’ve seen the anchors of others, and they’re...” he frowned slightly, shook his head. “It must be something individualized. None of them look like you do, but the telepaths think that they do.” Charles hesitated a beat, then, “I don’t require anything from you, necessarily. Your presence just blunts some of the sharper edges, some of the voices, some of the emotions. It keeps me from getting lost in the minds. That’s all.”

“It’s just a grounding mechanism,” Hank said carelessly, as if it were a cog in a machine, as if it meant very little. “A coping technique tied to a mind rather than a vice or hobby.”

“Well, at least I can help keep you steady.” Erik felt pleased at this, glad that there was something he was doing, even without trying, that helped Charles. He had felt so helpless so often when they were young, but he had helped him some, regardless. That was good to know.

“Indeed,” Hank agreed, glancing between them and clearing his throat. “The chances of your power nosediving is much slimmer with an anchor here. The chances of you not being able to pull back out are _also_ smaller, way smaller. That had been my primary concern before, so this is excellent.” He turned with that, leading them into a room that looked almost like it had been converted from a planetarium or an observatory.

“The former; my father had a bit of an astronomy obsession in his youth,” Charles noted fondly, looking around at the domed room, and Erik nodded- he could definitely see that it had been a planetarium, once. It was mostly empty now, although machines clustered around the edges of the room, and there was a place in the center with a circular banister around it, as if a person was meant to stand in the center of it. A small metal cart stood beside the bannister, and a helmet covered in electrodes and wires was sitting utop it innocuously.

_“Just hold still,” Shaw laughed, pressing the stickers against his skin, ignoring Erik’s small gasps of panic at the sight of the wires._

“What is that?” Erik looked at it, feeling his hands fist at the sight. Although it obviously wasn’t what it looked like, Shaw had used electrodes and taped wires, helmets and things of that nature toward the beginning of Erik’s stay with him. It had been a while, but the wires brought it sharply back. He could taste the fear, the acrid and blood-like rush across his tongue a physical sensation. Erik focused sharply on his inner meditation to keep from bending the railing out of shape by accident.

“Cerebro,” Hank said promptly, proudly oblivious as he beamed at it.

_The smell of burning skin, the tremors that ripped through his body as every shred of metal in the room crunched in on itself--_

“Erik.” Charles’ fingers found his, curled around them gently, grounding him with soft warmth. _You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s not like that._

Erik squeezed his hand, some of the panic easing. He loved that Charles was comfortable enough still to touch him, that Charles was still so engaged in making sure he felt safe. Erik couldn’t remember any time in the last seven years he had felt even remotely safe. _I know that neither of you would create something like that. Are you sure it won’t cause pain?_ It _looked_ like it. The more he looked at it, the more he examined the way the electrodes connected, the more he thought that it looked… lethal.

_Beck’s hands trembled as Zasha’s fingers traced the small circular burns at her temples, her eyes wide and frightened and blank._

Charles’ fingers stroked another path across his wrist, drawing him back out of the memory. _It’s not the kind of pain you’re thinking,_ Charles offered after a moment, honest and reassuring, even upbeat as he smiled up at Erik. _It won’t electrocute me._

“We’re starting with just ten minutes,” Hank said, crossing to one of the machines and entering data into it. “If you need to be let out early, try to tell us. If you’re not connecting to physical…” he grimaced. “Try to project?”

“I’m his anchor, right?” Erik frowned. “So shouldn’t he be able to reach me better than most others? What are you planning on seeing? Do you have any idea?” He looked between them, uneasy and scowling to cover that fact. “Are you just strapping Charles into a medevil torture device and firing it up without the slightest clue what will happen?”

“We have theory,” Charles offered, shaking his head. “But it’s hard to know exactly what it will be like, no one has done anything like this before. In theory, I will be able to see and hear you lot physically, and just be able to hear more voices if I try. But it could be different- we’ll have to see. It’s extraordinarily exciting, we could learn so much.” His eyes shone with delight and anticipation. “Even if it comes with burnout, it would be worth it for what we could learn. I’ll definitely be able to find you regardless- your signature is so unique.”

Erik couldn’t help but concede a smile to that- Charles excited about a new topic or research was absolutely irresistible. His happiness was infectious, and Erik wasn’t sure how he would be able to tell him no, with that expression on his face.

“Don’t have an aneurysm,” he said reluctantly, squeezing Charles’ hand that he was still holding. “I’ll be here, if you need help coming back. Just yell.”

“I will.” Charles beamed, almost glowing, then crossed the room, taking his place in the center of the bannister. A clock on the wall lit up with a countdown, ten minutes frozen there, and Charles picked up the helmet, examining it curiously.

“You’re sure you don’t want to shave-”

“Hank, I will not be bald.” Charles rolled his eyes and settled the helmet on his head. Erik focused on his breathing, the wires trailing away from Charles’ head making him look oddly small in his chair. Charles reached out, resting his palms on the banister carefully. “Ten minutes, then pull me out. Take notes on whatever happens.”

Erik bit his tongue, leaning back against the wall and continuing to go through his meditation and grounding techniques. He trusted that Charles-- mostly-- knew what was going on and how to be safe. The room, the machine, the wires… it was all just a little too close to Shaw’s old ways for comfort… but he had to trust that it would be fine. He had to trust that Charles wouldn’t risk this, not with his children and Hank depending on him.

“All right. Going in in five, four, three, two, one.” Hank pulled a switch and the machines were suddenly humming, some of the electrodes connected to the helmet lighting up. Charles gasped hoarsely, his eyes widening and fingers tightening hard enough to turn white around the bannister. His pupils expanded sharply, eating away the blue of his irises, and Erik forced down the immediate and almost visceral urge to destroy the machine and make sure he was okay.

“Charles?” Hank asked cautiously as Erik moved forward, resting his hands on the same bar, his thumbs spanning each of Charles’ hands. If he was an anchor, maybe physical touch could help. “Can you hear me?”

“I can… I can hear _everything_.” Charles breathed the words, looking lost, or overwhelmed, or possibly in love. His eyes didn’t meet Erik’s, instead seeming to stare straight through him. “I can see all of them. Oh my god, I can see everything.” His hands trembled slightly beneath Erik’s, wonder infusing his tone. “Every mutant, every human, I can- I can see _all of them_.”

“Wait, all?” Hank looked up sharply and Charles let out a rush of air, his eyes searching for something beyond Erik. “In what area?”

“I- Northern America? At least?” Charles shook his head minutely, flinching slightly. “There are so many minds. So much pain, so much joy, it’s… it’s incredible.”

_“Schisse,”_ Erik said, impressed despite himself. All of North America. Charles could see all of the minds in _North America_. That was… beyond what he would have expected. The sheer power in this little machine, in the man in front of him, was staggering to consider. “What does it feel like? Other than overwhelming? Does it hurt, is it cold?”

Charles blinked once, taking in a small breath. “It feels… like living in a kaleidoscope made of the Milky Way. Like the Hubble shifted in on itself.”

“What?” Hank frowned at him from across the room, but Charles was focusing on something else, his expression becoming more serious for a moment, then,

“Moira? Can you hear me?”

“Charles, you were supposed to just _look_ this first time, Moira’s still in Seattle-“ Hank’s admonition clearly fell on deaf ears, because Charles was beaming brilliantly.

“Hello, love. Just trying something. No, I’m not there.” He paused, then chuckled. “I will. Come and visit the house when you get back. This could change things.” He focused elsewhere, fascinated and delighted like a child with a new toy, though his face was paling. “This is incredible,” he murmured to himself in awe.

Charles had just spoken to someone in Seattle from New York. There had to be issues, mental and physical strain. That needed to be watched, because Charles wouldn’t stop on his own if he thought more could be learned. “What are his vitals?” Erik asked, not looking away from Charles’ face. “He’s losing color. For the love of god, tell me you hooked him up to something to monitor his vitals.”

“Of course I did. His heart rate is up, respiration is lower,” Hank reported. “His brainwaves are all over the place. Temperature looks like it’s dropping, but nothing’s dangerous yet.”

“I could find anyone,” Charles marveled, then focused, eyebrows drawing together. “Shaw, I need to look for Shaw.”

“ _Can_ you find Shaw?” Erik kept his eyes on Charles, watching the excitement and awe play across his face, freckles standing out against his too-pale skin. “You told me you couldn’t read him before.”

“I couldn’t, he has a way to block me, but maybe this can push through that, maybe… or maybe I can find Emma and see if they’re still together.”

“Stay away from Frost,” Hank disagreed shortly. “A telepath would be able to sense you, you don’t want to invite that when you’re this open.”

“Stay away from her,” Erik commanded. “You are powerful, Charles, but she’s vicious and used to using her powers to cause pain. She will react that way, and it won’t go well. One kind action _once_ doesn’t change who she is.”

“Fine, fine. I’m looking for Shaw.” He frowned, his black eyes somewhat unfocused now, the tremors in his hands spreading to the rest of his body. “Hank, how much further could this be amplified?”

Erik didn’t like the way the tremors seemed to be getting stronger, the unsteadiness of Charles’ voice. “I think we should leave it as is, until you get used to this,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “It’s a _lot_ of power and you’re not used to it.”

“He’s only got a few minutes left,” Hank murmured in an undertone to Erik. “Do you want to cut it?”

“I don’t know.” Erik studied the telepath in front of him, trying to gauge if there was pain he wasn’t telling them. “If the vitals get worse, cut it.”

“He’s not here.” Frustration laced Charles’ voice. “I don’t see him anywhere, I don’t feel his absence either. We need to boost this, I need to be able to see more. _God_ it’s so beautiful, it’s so surreal and there’s lives being taken and being born every single second, the landscape is constantly fluctuating.”

Erik laughed a little. “Too bad you’re not an artist. You could paint it. There’s a chance you _won’t_ hear him, Charles. You knew that, he might be able to block you still.”

“It’s different.” He pressed his lips together briefly. “It’s like— a black hole. He’s not invisible, he’s _gone_ , and it’s different.” Sweat beaded on his forehead from the sheer strain. “I don’t feel it yet, I don’t see it.”

“That’s okay.” Erik squeezed his hands, slightly alarmed. He needed to stop pushing himself so hard or he really _would_ blow something in his brain. “It’s okay if you can’t find him right now. Right now, just focus on learning how to use it and control it. We can refine it later.”

“All right. I’m going to pull you out in five, four, three, two, one.” Hank pulled the switch again and the humming and lights faded. Charles looked oddly adrift for a moment, his eyes still black, unfocused, and searching, and then they found Erik’s. ‘Anchor’ was suddenly fully illustrated for Erik, explained vividly as he felt Charles’ mind lock onto his like a hand on his arm. There was a sensation of whirling activity, like standing in the middle of a snowstorm with no sense of direction, but, as they looked at each other, the snow in Charles’ world slowly settled as their surroundings seemed to come back into view for the telepath. Charles’ pupils shrank slowly, gradually revealing a rim of blue, and he swayed forward slightly.

“That was incredible,” he breathed, staring up at Erik, who jumped up over the railing and pushed his chair back, settling Charles back in it more solidly so he wouldn’t fall out, steadying him with a hand on one arm.

“I’m glad you think so,” Erik said with a small smile, wrapping his fingers around Charles’ wrist and counting heartbeats as he marvelled at the way an anchor truly functioned. Absolutely fascinating. “How do you feel? Don’t lie and say you feel perfectly fine.”

“Um. No, not fine.” He blinked quickly, struggling to focus on Erik’s face. His pulse was still too fast, but he was starting to regain color, and Erik smiled, a surprised flash of pleasure moving through him. So apparently, Charles _would_ listen on occasion. That was new. “My head feels like it’s about to split in half, to be frank.”

Well, at least he wasn’t trying to lie. Erik nodded and lowered his voice. “That makes sense, what with the sheer amount of power you were probably using. We’ll get some food in you, and after you sleep we will see where things stand.” He slowly let Charles’ wrist go. “It’s going to take a while, to get used to it, probably. Do you think it will be useful? You spoke to that Moira in Seattle, so obviously it at least helps with distance.”

Charles smiled, the expression of delight overshadowing the strain in his face. “She’s doing well. I could read her like she was right here, it’s incredible. It only took me seconds to find her. I wonder if I could find a stranger just as quickly or if it’s that she’s familiar to me.” He swayed again slightly and Hank crossed the room to shine a light in his eyes, pulling out a stethoscope from his pocket and listening to Charles’ chest carefully. “I’m really all right, Hank, I didn’t even hit burnout. It’s just a headache.” Charles shook his head.

“No doubt because you went and pushed yourself,” Hank pointed out lightly. “What possessed you to try to project to someone in Seattle?”

“Wanted to see if I could.” Charles’ grin was crooked and unashamed and beautiful, and Erik either wanted to shake the impertinent look off his face or _kiss_ it off, he wasn’t sure which. “I wonder if I could do full illusions across the distance, actually and truly project images…”

“He’s going to blow an artery trying to make pretty pictures cross-country,” Erik groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and burying the thoughts of kissing Charles for now. “Good god.”

_That’s not your gesture,_ Charles informed him with a widening of his grin, noting the pinching of his nose. _I’m rubbing off on you._

“Charles, I know this is exciting, but we need to take it slow,” Hank said, hanging the stethoscope around his neck as he straightened. “Think of it as taking it slow for discovery’s sake. We need to know _what’s_ making you tired- the duration, the amount of minds you’re touching, trying to contact people… We need to know what cause has what effect.”

Charles considered this and relented slightly, to Erik’s relief. “Yes, that makes sense,” he allowed reluctantly, raising his fingers to massage his forehead. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

Erik laughed a little, standing. “Hank, what else do you want to do with him? Can I take him back to the main house?”

“No, I think we’re done for now,” Hank said after a moment of thought, studying him clinically. “I need to ask him more questions, but I’ll wait until the headache subsides.”

“I can answer things now, I don’t want you to have to wait.” Charles took a deep breath, looking up, and Hank rolled his eyes.

“Go back to the house and take some pain medicine, Charles.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Erik ordered, wheeling him out of the machine room. “You just did something incredible, and you need to let your body rest and recover. Don’t push it away and not pay attention to your reactions.”

“My reactions are less important than progre-” he stopped and Erik stilled, both men fully aware that Charles had just echoed Shaw. Charles cleared his throat, shaking his head, looking startled and discomfited. “Um. Maybe I do need to take a break.”

“You’ll feel better once you sleep and take some medication,” Erik said, pushing all the speeches that Shaw had ever told him through the years down viciously as he separated the two men firmly in his mind. Charles hadn’t meant it like that, it was simply his natural selflessness. It was, in fact, the exact opposite of what Shaw had always wanted. Where Shaw would sacrifice the happiness and health of everyone around him for progress and knowledge, Charles would only sacrifice his own health and happiness for knowledge that would help others. They were nothing alike, even in the smallest way.

Charles was silent for a moment, allowing Erik to push the chair forward as they headed across the grass, and began massaging his head again. “Maybe the study?” He requested after a moment.

“You don’t want the kids to see?” Erik guessed shrewdly. “I can’t imagine you would want that. I’ll bring you some painkillers and food in the study, it’s not that far from the kitchen.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Charles dismissed absently. “The painkillers, that is, not the food. Tea sounds lovely. And yes, I’d rather not worry them unnecessarily. Their lives have been stressful enough.”

“Charles.” Erik stared down at the back of his head. “You said it felt like your head was splitting open. Don’t be a martyr, it’s not weakness to need painkillers on occasion, when you’ve expended that much power.”

“It’s not martyrdom.” Charles’ voice was somewhat short, and he didn’t look up at Erik. “I don’t take painkillers.”

_Oh_. Erik focused on the mansion, counting the windows to keep himself from thinking too deeply about that. If Charles had wanted to talk about the drugs, he would have, and he was obviously not ready yet. But it made sense that someone who had struggled with that addiction would avoid painkillers at all costs. “All right,” Erik acquesed, giving the bracelet around Charles’ wrist a comforting squeeze, twirling it slowly. Charles’ shoulders relaxed very slightly and he rested his hand over it. “Is there anything low-dose that you use, or do you avoid all of them? Just so that I know in the future.”

“All of them.” Charles offered a small smile, though he still didn’t look around at Erik. “A telepath taught me how to deaden pain receptors a year or so ago, but considering that this headache is from an overuse of power, I don’t think that it would be effective. It’s just a headache, I’ll be fine.” His fingers traced across the links of the metal at his wrist slowly.

“All right.” Erik nodded, relenting on that point. He would never force Charles to do anything he didn’t want to do, and this he had a _very_ good reason not to do. “Charles, you understand you can always be honest with me, don’t you? I’m not going to judge you for any of the stupid shit anyone else might.” He carefully rolled the chair into the study, walking around to face Charles. “I don’t care. As long as you and yours are safe, things are fine with me.”

Charles’ eyes crinkled slightly. “You’ve always been too good to be real. You know that?” He didn’t leave time for him to answer, instead wheeling to one of the shelves against the wall. Charles picked up a chess set, the pieces polished and shimmering. The white were made of carved swirls of marble, the black set sleek and art-nouveau shapes made out of black metal. “Fancy a game?” He asked, glancing back at Erik.

Erik moved forward, touching the black pieces in fascination. “Where did you get this?” He hadn’t played chess in years and years, unable to play a game with anyone else when chess had been a foundation of their relationship. He had tried, thinking it might bring good memories or closure, and had promptly gotten up before two turns were done, unable to bear any more than that. “It’s beautiful. Yes, I’d love to play.”

“It was a gift.” Charles pursed his lips briefly. “From Emma Frost. I told you that I ran into her a few years ago— she showed up at my graduation. I would have broken it, but it was too lovely a thing to waste.” He carried the board over to the desk and began setting it up. “I haven’t used it, actually, so you can help me break it in.”

Erik paused, watching him. “She showed up at your graduation? So… she knew you were alive. For how long, do you know?” Had she known, when she had told Erik Charles’ name, that Charles was alive and not dead? Had she listened to Erik’s grief and allowed him to continue grieving? She _had_ told him Charles’ name, but that left still the fact that she hadn’t told him, if she had known.

“I’ve always assumed they both knew.” Charles offered a small shrug. “I didn’t get _myself_ out of there without being able to walk. You didn’t get me out. Zasha and Beck didn’t do it. The only way I could have lived was if they chose to let me go. I’ve always just assumed they were watching and waiting ever since.”

Waiting for what? Erik frowned a little, thinking this through with a faint sense of foreboding. Charles was the strongest telepath that Erik knew of. He had avoided telepaths since he had escaped Hallow Hall, knowing that the brushes against his mind would send him into a panic attack, constantly thinking they were either Emma or Charles, who either meant him harm or had been lost to him. But he knew _of_ them, and he knew that few, if any, could do a full sweep of someone’s mind without the person _feeling_ the telepath doing it. Charles had that ability, and others he had hinted at.

Had Shaw and Emma decided to cut Charles loose and let him develop further on his own, waiting and watching to see exactly how strong he got as he matured and fought his way through grief and addiction? That idea was more than unpleasant, and Erik pushed it away after a moment, deciding he would continue to think through it and decide what needed to be done about it later. 

Erik sat across from him, picking up the queen and examining it. “She had half of it made metal,” he mused, this small detail _also_ a problem in itself. “No one makes a chess set and makes the white and black completely different materials, it’s clearly personalized.” He set the queen down. “What did she say when you saw her?”

“Well, I assumed it was intending to be cutting,” Charles said, smiling slightly as he set up his half. “Just a reminder of what I’d lost and that I still wasn’t free, confirmation that I was being watched. She told me that she was there to send her regards and congratulations on the degree. It was 2011, so it had only been four years since I got out. I tried to read her, she blocked me, I cracked her shield, and I told her to stay away from me or I’d shatter them the next time. I think she was taken aback, to tell the truth. She hadn’t thought I’d get so strong. She left almost immediately and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Hm.” Erik set up his own side, thinking this through, impressed that Charles had gone that far… though he understood. Emma was a special kind of bitch, and only four years out of Hallow meant everything was still nice and fresh. “I never understood why she stayed. Usually she was a cold bitch, and she hurt us plenty, don’t think she didn’t. But sometimes she went a little easier than she had to. It may have been genuine… I suppose. She never found me, or spoke to me if she did. I haven’t seen her since I threw a door at her.” He smiled a little, but the idea of a benevolent Emma didn’t quite fit in with the seven years he had known her, unhesitating and hard as her own diamond skin. “When she told me your name, she seemed… almost regretful. She said that you had a beautiful mind. It was strange.”

Charles frowned hard at him, looking somewhat unsettled. “Hm,” he said finally, moving the board between them and carefully pushing a pawn forward.

“I’m sure you do.” Erik moved his knight, considering carefully. 

“You’ve never seen yours,” he pointed out frankly, tracing his fingertips across his lips. Erik smiled a little. “Of course, I might be somewhat biased. Again, telepaths always think their anchors are unique.” His fingers hovered above one of his bishops, his lips pursing briefly.

Erik pretended to scratch at his nose, hiding a grin. “What, so you all have arguments about whose anchor is most unique and you’re all right and yet you’re all wrong?”

“Pretty much.” Charles grinned back. “I’ve looked at their memories, at the way they see their anchors. They’re wrong, but they all think that they’re right. There’s one pair that lives in Chicago… they fell out ages ago, but they stay in close enough proximity for Endy to help Ethan when necessary. Not friends, but supports all the same. It’s unique every time, the relationship there.” He moved the bishop, rubbing at his forehead slowly. “I pity Emma for not having one… unless it’s Shaw, in which case I pity her more. I never noticed her leaning on anyone or reaching out, but I may not have noticed.”

“Charles.” Erik stared at him as he realized what had happened. “You distracted me with chess. You need to eat, and you need to go to bed. Not play chess!” He stood. “You have a migraine, probably very near burnout, and we’re sitting here playing a _chess game_.”

“So you agree that I’m about to win?” Charles’ smile widened and he rested his chin in his hand. “You’re afraid of losing to me?”

“Absolutely not,” Erik protested. “I’m taking you to the kitchen to get food and then I’m going to make damn sure you go back to your room and sleep. Hank and I both know you won’t take care of yourself if someone doesn’t make you.” He shook his head. “We will leave the board where it is, and tomorrow once you’ve gotten some sleep, I will show you the master plan I had laid out.”

“I don’t think so.” Charles leaned forward, catching Erik’s wrist. “One game,” he requested, sapphire eyes warm and locked on Erik’s. “It’s not going to kill me, it’s just a headache. It doesn’t matter. I want to play, it’s been so long. You were fine with it a second ago.”

“You distracted me,” Erik protested, but slowly sat back down. Charles was dangerously compelling, without using any of his gifts. “ _One_ game, that’s all. One game, and then you will sleep it off.” He turned his hand, fingers brushing Charles’ wrist. “It’s dangerous to get that close to burnout. You have to make sure to take care of yourself.”

“Hank says I’m terrible with that. Sometimes I forget to eat, get too distracted by papers or working with the kids on homework. Drives him and Raven crazy, like they’re my parents.” Charles snorted, but looked very pleased with himself for having successfully redirected Erik and sat back to allow him to make the next move.

Erik sighed and moved his rook. “Well, at least they were there. And now I’m here, and I won’t be distracted by your offer of _chess games_.” He shot Charles a smile. “Except this once. I’m going to make sure you are taken care of, and Hank and Raven will help me bully you.” He mused, tapping his finger on the table, this new topic interesting him. “So Raven’s your sister. You didn’t talk about her when we were in Hallow, you were afraid that Shaw would find out and go get her. You said she was sweet and kind.” Erik laughed. “I can’t imagine her being nice. Then, you’d love her even if she wasn’t.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed easily. “She’s worth loving. If all you ever look for is the faults in people, you’ll miss their strengths. If you look for the strengths, you can learn to love, accept, and forgive the faults.” He moved his bishop again, decisively taking Erik’s rook. “You’re always looking at others as threats and enemies. That’s why you miss out on them being friends and allies. If you offered more second chances, you might be happier.”

Erik smiled at the chessboard, nudging his queen forward without touching it. Finesse, this could be good practice for practicing finessing his power. Not that he struggled with that, but practice never hurt anyone. “That’s because for the most part, things have been threats and enemies. It’s good to know that there are people like you out there, people that are willing to give second chances, since I often don’t.”

“There is so much good in the world, Erik.” Charles shook his head with a smile at the queen, visibly delighted by Erik’s tiny display of power. “I could see it when I was in Cerebro, and honestly, it’s overwhelming, how much good there is. There was bad there, too, but _so much hope_ , so much desire for a better world. All of those minds, and all any of them wanted was to be happy. It’s incredible.” His hand was slightly unsteady as he moved one of his rooks, but he placed it firmly enough. “You should let yourself hope, too.”

Erik watched him, that warm pinch in his chest back again. The beautiful, kind, brilliant and insanely optimistic boy he had known had barely changed at all. Even having gone through the ugliness he had seen, he still believed that the world was better. “I have never met anyone with your boundless optimism,” he said gently, warmly. “Tell me about the people you’ve met. Tell me about Moira, the one you spoke to in Seattle. Where did you meet her?” 

“Oxford.” He offered a cheerful beam. “She was studying abroad for a year. She’s from New York originally, and after Shaw released me-” A flicker of the usual confusion and unease on his face with the words, “-she came and saw me here at the house. She tried to help. She actually works with the government, she’s been employed by the CIA for a few years now. She’s absolutely lovely, although she’s got a bit of a temper. She’s an excellent agent and is quite dedicated to her job. She comes by the house every so often and talks to the kids, checks on how everything is going. She taught Angel to shoot a gun, which is concerning, but…” He shrugged happily. “You’ll like her.”

Erik snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think any of those children need to learn how to shoot a gun.” he scooted his bishop across the board toward Charles with a tiny twitch of his fingers, enjoying how much Charles liked seeing that. He had accomplished some things, when they were younger- he still wasn’t sure how he had managed the reshaping of the bracelet, maybe some of Charles’ raw power and concentration had bled through since they’d been bonded at the time- but the intricacy and the control he had now was worlds away from what they’d been last time Charles had seen him use any power. “CIA, hm?” Probably if and when she came to visit, Erik should make himself scarce. He’d never known for sure if people knew anything concrete about him in different governments, but they had absolutely been aware of who he had killed. Some government, _somewhere_ , had him on their radar.

“I wouldn’t let anyone arrest you,” Charles reminded him lightly, sacrificing a pawn to Erik’s knight. “She wouldn’t be interested, anyway. They’ve got her on the Shaw case, and you’d be a lead. She would be more likely to try to figure out what you know. She’ll like you, I think. I can’t imagine anyone not. But then, she and Logan don’t get along very well, so maybe that’s not right.” He frowned, perturbed by this logic and by the fact that Erik was in the process of taking one of his bishops. His playing was getting sloppier as the game wore on, his headache clearly affecting his talent.

Erik smiled to himself, half-amused at Charles’ perplexity, and half-concerned about his headache. “I see. Well, at least you have the CIA on your side, I can imagine that comes in handy.” The children thundered upstairs and Erik glared up at the ceiling. “Do you want me to lock them in their rooms? Your head hurts.”

“They’re chasing each other.” Charles’ smile was broad and sincere, slaying the irritation in Erik’s chest with ease. “Like a game of tag, but with their abilities. It’s adorable, isn’t it? Can you imagine feeling comfortable enough and light enough to play tag as a child, using your metal? Sure, Alex will set the curtains on fire and Sean will break a window or two, but they’re young and I can replace that.”

Erik looked at him, then laughed. “You are the furthest thing I can imagine from my childhood mentor. I’m not sure about your laissez-faire attitude about the curtains being on fire, but then, Zasha set ours on fire all the time and it was usually fine.” Laughter floated down the stairs and Erik snorted, putting on a good show of not caring, but something in his chest warmed at the sound, and when he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “No, I can’t imagine playing tag with my powers. I’m glad they have that freedom with you.”

“It would have been fun, if the Hall had been different.” Charles smiled, the expression wistful. “Zasha would have melted our shoes to cheat and stick us to the ground. Beck could have flown and shifted, tapped us from behind when we weren’t looking. I would have felt free to cheat and monitor your thoughts, tried to anticipate when someone was coming for me or where they were hiding.” 

Erik laughed. “I could have stood on discs and flown, or tripped you all. It would have been fun, you’re right.” He captured another knight and tossed it on the small pile, which earned him another mournful, disconcerted, and slightly-perplexed frown from his opponent. “They seem like mostly good kids. Crazy, but good.”

“They’re wonderful,” Charles agreed warmly, reaching for a pawn. “You should pick one at a time and spend some time with them; they _are_ rather overwhelming all at once. More connections is a good thing, Erik. I promise.” His fingers fumbled with his chess piece, knocking over a couple other pawns in the process, and Charles righted them quickly with unsteady hands. “Sorry, sorry. I do think you should spend some time with them, you’ll like them. Maybe Darwin or Alex, if you’re not comfortable with Angel. I think Sean’s eccentricities would wear on you.”

Erik stood, unconvinced, now, of Charles’ well-being. “We can finish it later,” he said firmly, worried about the unsteadiness in Charles’ hands. He couldn’t let those eyes convince him to put it off again, Charles needed to sleep. “Let’s go, Charles. While you’re sleeping, maybe I’ll even attempt to bond with the children or something like that.”

“But we haven’t finished!” Charles stared up at him in betrayal. “I’m fine!”

“You’re not,” Erik disagreed with him, determined to get him to rest and recover. “I promise that I won’t touch the board before we come back tomorrow, but you need to sleep and recover. You’re shaking and unsteady, and you’ve expended a lot of energy today. You would counsel any of your children, or me for that matter, to do the same thing. Sleep.”

_I’m not weak_. He didn’t say the words out loud. Erik wasn’t even sure that Charles had meant to project it. “I can’t be out of commission every time I get a headache or use Cerebro,” he said aloud instead. “It's just repetition and training my body to accept it, it’ll be fine.”

“Charles.” Erik’s chest physically hurt as he moved around the table, kneeling in front of him and looking up at him. “Do you honestly think that I would ever see you as weak? You are one of the most powerful mutants I have ever met. You stood up against Shaw when I deferred to him like a scared child. You took everything anyone threw at you, all that trauma and pain, and you made a school where children are _happy_ and _safe_. You are the _last_ person I would ever imagine calling weak.”

“You’re biased.” His fingers caught at Erik’s shoulders, plucking at his hoodie and then smoothing it alternatively in an anxious motion that Erik recognized from their youth. “I can’t just go about passing out whenever I use it, I have to be able to take it. I have to keep them safe. To keep you safe.”

“I know.” Erik rested his hands on Charles’ feet. “I know that you hate thinking that you are weak. But understanding your boundaries isn’t weakness, Charles. It’s important to know where your limits are, and use them. I struggled with that too, at first, and sometimes I still struggle with feeling like I can’t stop, I can’t rest or breathe, or something bad will happen.. But you’re safe here, and I know that you’ll keep all of us safe. But you still need to sleep. Taking naps isn’t a bad thing, after you exert the amount of incredible power you just did.” Erik smiled a little. “Naps are good. Sleep, Charles. Rest.” He put a little firmness behind it, unmoveable.

He could see the indecision on Charles’ face, the exhaustion warring with stubborn pride, and then he finally let out a breath, blue eyes sinking closed. “All right,” he allowed. “Fine. But you have to check on the kids.”

“I will,” Erik agreed, reaching out and touching the edge of Charles’ jaw, allowing himself to touch his skin. “You are not weak,” he said quietly, firmly, leaving no room for argument in his tone or mind. ”Never. And I will take care of the kids.”

Charles leaned into his hand slightly, a small smile curving his lips, and then he wheeled himself out of the room. Erik didn’t move, but tracked the progress of the metal in his mind as the chair and bracelet vanished down the hall and into Charles’ room. He relaxed, closing his eyes for a long moment, then stood. Charles had trusted him with his children enough to go to sleep, which was amazing. Erik had things to do, but first… first he would check on the kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is "Saturn," by Sleeping at Last. It's one of my personal favorites, just an absolutely beautiful piece. I highly recommend it.


	7. That I Put Down in Words: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes at the mansion, Charles decides how to go about his friendship with Erik, and Moira stops by for a visit.

When Charles woke, his headache had subsided. He was intimately grateful for this. He had been able to hold it together well enough for the chess game, even if Erik had eventually seen through some of it and forced him to stop, but once he had been alone, the pain had been that much more vicious-- Athena being split out of Zeus’ forehead was the closest thing that came to mind. Charles had fallen when he’d tried to swing himself onto his bed, normally an action that was easy and purely based on muscle memory. He’d laid on the floor for a few minutes after that, hands pressed to his skull as he waited for the pain in his head to subside enough to be able to move again, and then had dragged himself up onto the mattress and passed out.

The pattern repeated over the couple weeks. He would have a small session with Cerebro, would pull himself together long enough to brief Hank on any discoveries, would attempt and sometimes succeed in distracting Erik with chess or an argument about politics (he really was dreadfully cynical, and Charles was working hard to curb this), and then he’d finally give in, sleep for a few hours, and return to working with the kids when he woke.

The students were starting to get used to Erik’s presence, beginning to accept him as part of the household. Angel dropped the flirting on the Tuesday following Erik’s arrival, when she watched Charles accidentally break the glass of water Erik had given him post-Cerebro experiment and Erik had caught his hands to look for injuries. _Oh_ , she had thought, unsurprised and yet uncertain, and then she had turned her time and attention to other ventures-- namely the fact that Alex was irritating ‘the living hell’ out of her and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to throttle him or kiss him.

Alex approached Charles after a few days of Charles working with Cerebro and asked, quite hesitantly, if Charles had been able to find Scott. There was nothing Charles wanted to say more than _yes, absolutely, I’m bringing him back for you right now_ , but the truth was that he hadn’t been able to locate the younger Summers boy. He didn’t know if that was because Scott wasn’t in North America, or if there was something more heartbreaking at play. Or perhaps it was simple enough-- that Charles wasn’t good at locating the minds of strangers yet. He assured Alex that he was looking, every day, and each session with Cerebro, Charles made it a point to uphold that promise. There weren’t any results, but he wasn’t going to quit.

Other than that, Alex, Darwin, and Sean were doing well, the trio continuing to race about the house, bother Angel, hide Raven’s things, and prank Hank. They tried once to prank Erik, pouring an entire bottle of shaving cream into Erik’s shoes, and Erik had just sat there staring at the overflowing sneakers for almost five minutes as he tried to process what had happened to him. Charles had been forced to remove himself from the room in order to stop from laughing in front of them and encouraging them to pursue further antics. Erik had then threatened that he would make them eat every meal without silverware for a week if they tried it again, and the pranks hadn’t begun again.

But they weren’t truly afraid of him anymore, and sometimes asked him questions for their homework, or about travel, or highly-inappropriate questions about how many people he’d killed and would it be possible to take someone down with just a spoon, without reshaping it or speeding its velocity like a bullet. Erik answered the travel ones and the homework questions, and on occasion, if the question wasn’t _insanely_ inappropriate (as they often were) or if they had caught him in a good mood, would answer the attack questions as well, as long as they were theoretical inquiries about the possibility of completing a job with certain resources. He refused to answer any about specific people he had killed, and that was probably for the best.

It warmed Charles’ chest in an odd way, to see them accepting his best friend and playing with him. Erik hadn’t played much in his life. It had been too full of pain, and then vengeance. He didn’t know how to let go and relax into this world. Charles was doing his best to change this, but it was a very intentional act both on his part and on Erik’s. The students, however, were pure instinct and excitement, and Erik could find no underlying intent in their interactions with them aside from the fact that they just wanted to. It was both funny and heart-wrenchingly sweet to watch him process how to accept this.

Raven normally would have left on another adventure by this time, but she still seemed wary about the idea of leaving Erik alone with Charles and the kids, so she stayed. She spent a fair amount of time teasing Hank while he worked, alternatively enjoying the game and then hating the fact that he wasn’t actually making a move on her. Poor Hank didn’t notice half of her advances, as he was too engrossed in his research, and the times when he did, he was too startled to react. Charles did his best to ignore this, mentally debating whether it was his place as the brother to inform Hank to get his head out of his ass, or if it was his place as a telepath to stay out of the business of others (and particularly Raven).

Erik, for his part and the most part, was settling in. A routine of sorts was built. Charles would wake up, emerge in the kitchen, and a cup of tea would already be waiting for him, sitting innocuously on the countertop. Erik, who woke up at the crack of dawn, would already be out jogging. He’d be back by time for breakfast with the group, and then he’d help with training them on their abilities, in self defense, or in school. 

Erik was shocked that he enjoyed this, Charles saw in amusement. He had never considered teaching or doing anything with children, but he was surprisingly good at it. His mania about self-protection was endlessly useful in the self defense classes, his unwavering belief that mutants should be accepted and never be ashamed of who or what they were a help during practice where the students used their powers. The knowledge he had gained from his many travels also worked nicely into the actual education aspect, and the children learned very well from him. While it may not have been his lifelong dream, Charles personally thought it was one he should adopt.

Erik had gone back to the hotel and gotten his meager suitcase of things, had unpacked them in the bedroom across the hall from Charles’. After they sent the kids to bed, they would meet in the study, drink, and play a game of chess while they talked about literature, politics, the children, Shaw, and the mutant rights movement. They were often at odds on these discussions, more so than they had been as teenagers, considering how deeply the past seven years had formed and altered their opinions on the world. Luckily, Charles was quickly realizing that there was almost nothing in the world he liked more than arguing with Erik.

The discussions over plans for renovating the house and potentially adding an elevator (seeing as Charles simply never had gotten around to it) went on for an entire chess match. Erik argued that having an elevator would be useful- if he had more students, he may eventually need to get up to even the top floor to talk to one of them or something, and he _needed_ an elevator to get to the basement. Charles had eventually capitulated to the logic of this argument, although he wasn’t overly fond of the thought of seeing too much more of the house.

Most of the memories stayed buried these days. The students had made themselves at home on the ground floor, had rewritten the harsh memories of Charles’ youth with sweeter ones of chaos and laughter. But it had been six years since he’d gone to the other floors, and he suspected that the memories remained there, dormant, waiting for him.

Nonetheless, Erik had a point, and so he began contacting a contractor to build the elevator.

Overall, it was peaceful and beautiful and the kind of life that he had stopped dreaming that he could have when he was seventeen and had lost the use of his legs. He’d never imagined that he would be able to have it now, that he could have gotten Erik back, that he could have felt so comfortable so quickly. This was the best era in his life, and he spent every day glowing in it. Their relationship remained platonic, but, for the moment, Charles suspected that it was in everyone’s best interests. 

Aside from his own anxiety, his uncertainty that Erik would continue to be so accepting of the chair once they were together, and his other various self-esteem issues… They couldn’t simply pick up where they had left off. Time had passed and both of them had changed, and Charles knew objectively that it was better if they relearned each other before making any moves to change the relationship. He would rather stay his platonic best friend for the rest of his life than start up a relationship and have to live through the breakup. They needed each other far too much for that, and this knowledge gave him a boundary to watch throughout his days.

It didn’t make watching Erik work out less distracting, or trying not to focus on his thoughts any easier. It didn’t mean that his stomach didn’t drop out when he looked up from the chessboard some nights and found Erik watching him, his eyes dark and focused on Charles’ mouth. It didn’t curb the want for the physical, or the emotional.

But they needed to relearn each other. Erik needed to know who Charles had become and presently was, and Charles… well, he already knew everything, but he didn’t want to rush Erik, who was already so wary of being tied down and trapped after his youth with Shaw. Erik was _consciously_ accepting and welcoming to the idea of staying at the house for the foreseeable future, but there were times; Sean had hugged him, Darwin had told him thank you for teaching him a new dodging maneuver, Erik had realized that his bedroom was _not_ militaristically clean and sparse but in fact lived-in and homey- there were times where Erik’s inner alarm bells went off and he had to fight down the urge to run.

So Charles ignored both their curiosities, both of their wants, much as he had at the beginning at Hallow Hall. He pretended he didn’t hear the thoughts that Erik didn’t fully mask, and he pretended not to focus on the way their hands touched or Erik checked on him post-Cerebro sessions. And when Erik _did_ catch Charles watching or listening, Charles would shoot him a rueful smile and then continue about his business.

He wasn’t sure how long he could continue doing it, but he was going to try.

Erik had been living in the house for two weeks when Moira came by. Charles had been in the middle of absolutely _thrashing_ Erik and the children in Monopoly, some old and battered American board game that they had unearthed in a closet, when his attention was caught at a familiar mind approaching the house.

“Oh,” he said, setting his piece down. “Moira’s here.”

“Moira?” Sean sat up fast. “She’s back from Seattle? Did she bring me that Toblerone, because she said that she would.”

“Sean, Toblerones are so gross,” Hank muttered, examining the housing development he had been building carefully throughout the last hour. They had dragged him out of the lab and forced him to join in, and he was doing rather well for himself.

“Go let her in and find out for yourself,” Charles chuckled, and Sean darted off, vanishing down the hallway. 

“Don’t cheat!” He shouted at the group as he ran off, and Angel promptly handed Alex and Darwin each a twenty from Sean’s bank. Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, pointed at the bank, and waited until they had returned it before looking wryly at Erik.

Erik flicked a finger and the metal pieces of all three moved back one square, two of whom landed on his hotels. “Pay up,” he said impassively at the betrayed gasps. “That is the price of cheating.”

Alex handed over his money good-naturedly and Darwin, who was not doing very well, had to sort through his meager gains to get the money he needed. Hank grinned at them, pleased that he had escaped punishment. “So we’ve been wondering,” Alex said conversationally, “Are we allowed to shoot you? Because you’d stop the bullets like Neo and I just think it would be really cool-”

“ _Absolutely_ not.” Charles stared at him, ignoring the internal laughter of Erik as the metallokinetic outwardly simply looked at Alex with a small frown. “What if he was distracted and missed one, and then you killed him? Also, none of you are allowed to touch guns. Guns are weapons with the express purpose of murdering other things. They’re loud, they’re messy, and you can defend yourselves with your gifts just as well as a gun.”

“Moira let me shoot a gun,” Angel muttered mutinously, and Charles frowned at her. “And Raven uses guns.”

“Raven is twenty-one and makes adult choices for an unsafe lifestyle. Moira works for the government. And she should absolutely not have handed you one in the first place.” He turned slightly, watching as Sean skidded into the room with the Toblerone held aloft above his head like a prized relic he had rescued from a temple.

“I got it,” he said, grinning brilliantly, and Charles laughed. 

“Go fight over it, we’ll pause the game. I need to talk to Moira anyways.”

“They’ll have to catch me.” And then Sean was gone again, sprinting down the corridor as Angel gave a yell and Alex and Darwin scrambled up, the three of them vanishing after him in seconds. Charles grinned at Erik, who rolled his eyes but had a small, fond smile on his face, then looked around again as Moira stepped into the room. Hank shook her hand, offering a warm greeting as he more peacefully made his way out, and Charles took the moment to study her.

Seattle had been good for her, he noted absently. Her mind seemed more cheerful than usual, and she looked like she’d been getting some sleep. They must have been able to close their case there. She smiled at him, hazel eyes lighting, and leaned down to hug him tightly.

“Good morning, Charles. Sorry I didn’t call-- I assumed you’d just know, what with being able to _find me in Seattle_.”

“I don’t stalk you, love.” He laughed, squeezing her before pulling back. “You look good. Your assignment went well, I take it?”

“Extremely.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners and then she glanced at Erik. Charles followed her gaze fondly.

“Moira, this is Erik Eisenhardt.” It was still oddly hard to refrain from saying ‘Lensherr.’ Charles had always loved Erik’s last name. “An old friend.”

“Wait, _that_ Erik?” She looked at him sharply, and Charles didn’t miss the way her hand dropped slightly toward her waist, to the gun holstered there.

Erik was immediately on alert, and Charles could almost _feel_ him grab every piece of metal in the room, scanning Moira for metal so he could keep her in place. Charles had never seen him in this mode, but Erik was thinking, almost too quickly to properly register, that Moira had a necklace he could use, a watch he could use, the lacing in her shoes went through holes with metal grommets… from relaxation to preparedness for attack in less than a second, the moment Moira had reached for the gun, whose metal Erik could not miss. It was all instinct, a state of being beaten into him by seven years as Shaw’s plaything, probably not anything he did consciously as Charles heard echoes in his mind of his body tensing, readying to move, all the metal in the room at attention for him to use it however he wanted.

Charles caught Erik’s arm with one hand, offered a soothing pulse to him, was intimately aware of the tirade of suspicion and _threat, he’s a threat_ mantra in Moira’s head as well, and caught her wrist with his other hand, stopping her from grabbing the weapon. _This is exactly why I don’t like guns_ , Charles thought as he caught her train of thought. “Your mind works terribly quickly and cynically. He’s not working with Shaw, I assure you. No, he’s not tricking us and he’s not here to kill anyone. He thought I was dead the same as I thought he was.”

“Uh-huh. And a telepath like Frost couldn’t build in false memories to throw you off?” She eyed him somewhat suspiciously and Charles laughed as Erik looked back at her, just as unfriendly. He could easily stop the bullets, Erik clearly wasn’t worried about that, but he disliked the idea of Charles being anywhere near if that were to happen.

“Not good enough ones to fool me, no. I guarantee he’s safe, darling. Stop baring your fangs and be pleasant. Thank you for bringing the candy for the kids. Erik, this is Agent Moira McTaggert.”

“Hello.” Erik eyed her, standing. “If you think that Charles would allow anyone near the children without properly checking them out first, especially someone who could so obviously be connected to Shaw, you need to get your head checked. Charles, do you need anything from the kitchen?” Charles brushed against his surface thoughts quickly and confirmed that Erik just felt the need to calm down for a moment after being in war mode after so long of peacefulness, his thoughts scattered and not quite coherent. He honestly just needed a little time. Charles felt a small twinge in his chest, mentally calculated if he should have frozen Moira before she could have gone for the gun and prevented this. His thumb brushed gently along Erik’s arm, then released it.

“Maybe some tea?” Charles requested, simply because the time it would take to brew would give Erik enough of a breather to rearrange his thoughts and calm his mind. Erik looked between them, then left with a nod. Charles noted that he had propped the kitchen door open so he could listen to the conversation and realized with a small smile that Erik didn’t trust Moira. Moira looked at Charles once his former lover had gone.

“Charles…”

“You’re not here to chastise me on my life choices,” Charles reminded her with a smile, leaning back in his chair. “You’re here for something quite other, in fact.” His mind followed hers, flicking through her undercurrent of thought, and he pursed his lips. “Here for business,” he finished on a sigh, feeling something heavy as dread weigh in his stomach, lightened only by the edge of exasperation. “Moira…”

“Let me just explain it to you,” she said, reaching out and catching his hand. “Charles, you said Cerebro was a _year_ away from being functional.”

“I was wrong, Hank has made some incredible advances since I saw you last. I didn’t update you because it doesn’t actually concern you. Moira, I’ve told you before that I’ve no interest in working for the government. I don’t want to be America’s _pet telepath_.” Even the words left a bitter taste on his tongue.

“And no one’s saying you would be!” Her eyes widened slightly. “Jesus, Charles, it wouldn’t be like _that_. But it works, it obviously works. You could find people. Help people. Think how many missing persons cases there are. You could help us find them.” That felt a bit unfair, Charles found himself thinking, eyes caught on the earnestness of hers, but she continued. “Think of how many lives you could change, could save. And how many threats you could stop! Serial killers, terrorists-”

“Moira…” Charles let out a breath, feeling his resolve waver.

“You could _help people_ ,” she persisted, squeezing his hand. “Think about how much good you could do, Charles. You’ve always wanted to make a difference, and you could, you really and truly could. Missing persons, murderers, national security, it’s _insane_ the potential avenues that this machine opens up.”

“He said no.” Erik’s voice was deadly quiet. Charles glanced around in surprise, somehow having missed the approach of Erik’s blindingly-bright mind in the face of Moira’s words. Erik stood in the doorway, as cold and rigid as if he’d been made of ice. “So if I were you, I would change the subject. Don’t you dare blackmail him into it.” Anger thrummed through him like a heartbeat, and Charles was fairly certain that Moira could hear it too, even without being a telepath. 

It was beautiful, Erik’s anger. The fact that it was stemming from protectiveness of Charles was especially incredible. It made something in Charles tighten and relax at the same time.

Moira frowned up at Erik hard. “Excuse me, but I don’t think you make his decisions for him. He could do so much good, help so many people. You can understand that, can’t you? If someone like him had been able to find you when you went missing as a child, when he went missing as a teenager? Shaw could have been stopped years ago if there had been someone like Charles with something like Cerebro, able to find him or his friends.”

“And then?” Erik demanded. “The next step after that is obvious. No government has clean hands. Sure, he’d start out finding missing persons and known terrorists. And then Charles will be told that some stranger is a threat, will help find him, and he’ll be completely innocent. He’ll rot in your prison just because he has a gift that’s too strong for your people to risk.” He gripped the back of Charles’ chair, his rage barely contained, Charles’ bracelet spinning circles around his wrist. “ _Charles_ could be seen as a terrible threat, anyone could look at how strong he is and make the call to take him in and put him down.”

“Erik.” Charles looked up at him, startled both by the words and by Erik’s grim confidence in them.

“You would end up helping round up mutants who could _potentially_ be dangerous, and you _know_ that’s where it would end up someday. The Mutant Registration Act is already being whispered about.” Erik looked down at him, expression hard, and Charles took a deep breath. Erik focused coldly back on Moira. “Charles already said no,” Erik repeated. “I’m not making decisions for him. _You_ are, by throwing emotional blackmail at him so he can’t say no a second time. You think I can’t recognize it after living with Shaw and Emma Frost in my head for seven years? Charles already said no.”

 _She doesn’t mean it like that, my friend._ Charles reached for that mind, for the anger simmering within, allowed himself for just a moment to drench himself in it. He’d been working so hard for the past two weeks to stay out of Erik’s thoughts, to give him space. To keep his mental distance because the tenor of Erik’s thoughts and emotions had always been too intoxicating. It was breathtaking, allowing himself to share Erik’s mind for a second, even if it was currently seething at Moira’s ‘audacity.’ _She truly thinks that I could be helpful. She’s not wrong._

 _Yes_ , Erik agreed, the anger not shifting in the slightest, _And Shaw thought I could be an excellent weapon. He wasn’t wrong either._

“I’m not _emotionally blackmailing_ him,” Moira scoffed, unable to hide her offense, and Charles shook his head.

“Moira, how many people know about Cerebro?” He focused on her, plucked the answer out of her head without waiting for her reply. She was embarrassed at this, was thrown off by Erik’s presence and anger, and as such wasn’t even trying to bury her mind’s instinctive answers to his questions. “Okay. That’s fine. I will request that you not make further reports on it, however. I… will consider helping.” Charles hesitated, turning the words and prospect over in his mind. “I do want to help. But it’s a terribly slippery slope and you know that. Erik isn’t wrong. One day I’m helping to find a missing person, and then a murderer, and then your terrorist… and then a mutant who might _become_ a terrorist. Boundaries would have to be very clearly defined, and it wouldn’t be able to be my job in any sense of the word. I have this school, I take care of the students. Cerebro does take a toll and if I were to use it as intensively as you’re suggesting, I wouldn’t be able to live a normal life outside of it.”

Charles could feel Erik relaxing with every sentence, relief that Charles wasn’t going to let Moira force him into it washing through him, and disappeared back into the kitchen with a last cold glare at her. The kids pounded down the hall, laughing and shrieking alternatively.

They piled into the room, greeting Moira cheerfully, most of them happily considering either the chocolate they had eaten, or their satisfactory hiding places to get it out of later. Charles let himself be swept up by their tidal wave of emotion and chatter, smiling and talking with the group cheerfully. He didn’t miss the frown in Moira’s thoughts, the way she still disliked and suspected Erik, the way she was disappointed in not getting Charles on board with the Cerebro plan, the earnestness with which she believed that he could save lives.

He _could_. He knew that. And wouldn’t he have been furious to know that someone like him _could_ have saved them at Hallow Hall? That some telepath could have located him when he was taken? Beck, Erik, Zasha, Charles, they could have been saved. The girls could be alive. Erik could have been spared a life of mercenary work, Charles could have kept his legs and stayed clean.

He and Erik could have lived their lives together.

So, when he saw her out the door, he gave her a small nod. “I’ll help,” he agreed quietly. “Get me a list of people to find. I’m going to be doing my own research on them to make sure that I’m not being lied to… but I’ll do what you need me to.”

She hugged him tightly, mind exploding with delight over the fact that they would be working together, that Erik hadn’t scared him off the idea, that her bosses were going to be _thrilled_ with her, that they were going to really and truly save lives. Charles laughed, hugging her back, and she pulled back with a grin.

“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll bring it later this week-- they want me to check in with the New York office and then I have to make some reports, but I’ll get a file together and bring it to you.” She squeezed his hands, nearly glowing, then, “You look good, Charles. I’m glad you’re doing so much better.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll probably come by… oh, maybe Wednesday. I’ll have the file. You’re the best.” She winked at him and all but danced down the steps toward her car.

“Moira?” He called after her, and she paused, turning back to look at him with a beam. He smiled. “It’s important that you know that I am the only one who would be able to utilize Cerebro. Were it in someone else’s hands, it would not work, or perhaps do extreme damage to the telepath or the individual whose mind they were connected to.”

Moira blinked at him, her smile fading. “I wasn’t planning on-”

“So if your people want my aid, they would do well to lose Max Eisenhardt’s records from their system.” He offered her a smile. “Or I’m afraid the machine will be entirely useless, and that’s no good to anyone.”

She studied his face, chagrin and frustration evident in her thought processes, but she finally inclined her head. “All right,” she allowed, a little too casually. “I’ll pass that along when I get the list then.” She got into the car and pulled out of the drive smoothly, and Charles chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head.

He felt and heard Erik approaching, coming to stand next to him. “I don’t like her,” he said grumpily. “She’s pushy. Do you really think her people will delete my file?” He looked down at Charles, amused fondness ringing through the words. “I sincerely doubt it, to be honest with you.”

“No, they will.” He sighed, stretching. “The CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, and Secret Service have all been keeping tabs on me for a while now. I’m just a little too much to risk. Me asking to have one tiny assassin spared in exchange for more or less worming myself under their thumb is hardly a concern. They’ll watch you too, of course, but you’ll more or less have immunity from your past crimes and any minor future ones. Given that you don’t try to blow up the nation or assassinate the president, anyways. They’re too nervous about me to worry about you.”

Erik laughed, shaking his head. “One tiny assassin,” he chuckled. “Charles, I’m not sure that’s exactly something you can quantify like that. But I do understand what you mean- I suppose forgetting about my past indiscretions- most of which weren’t committed here, anyway- is a small price to pay for a telepath like you.” He put his hands in his pockets, watching her drive away. “You agreed in the end, like I thought you would. You bleeding-hearted fool.” There was nothing about affection there, despite the words, and he watched Moira’s car vanish around the curve of the lane. “Could flip the car,” he said idly. “Aw, poor McTaggert, caught in the slick country roads.”

 _“Erik_.” Charles pushed at his arm with a laugh, knowing that the metallokinetic was at least eighty-eight percent joking and wouldn’t act on anything. “She’s not wrong. I could do a lot of good as long as I keep boundaries between what I will and won’t do. What if Shaw has a whole other batch of kids in some manor somewhere, and I was too… selfish to help find them, because I was worried that I’d make a couple wrong decisions along the way? I’m doing nearly daily sessions with Cerebro anyway, and it might be good practice, help me learn more about locating people.”

Erik grumbled something else rude about Moira, but relented. That fear, the fear that Shaw had simply started over again somewhere else, was one they had both lived with for a long time. “If I feel like they’re trying to push you to break those boundaries you’re setting, we’re going to have problems,” he said. “I’ll tear the machine apart and make Hank cry.” A reluctant smile touched his lips and he held out a cup. “Your tea, _Professor_. I’m also out here because they’re all way too sugared up.”

“Too sugared up? Our kids?” Charles had tossed the words out with a haphazard grin without thinking, the cup at his lips before he registered what he’d said. He stopped, glanced briefly at Erik, allowed himself a small mental brush to see if he’d sent his alarm bells off.

Erik was considering the idea, and Charles felt a small thrill of panic as he noted that Erik wasn’t fully sure how he felt about that.

Luckily, the students were chaotic enough to give him an escape option.

 _“Bloody hell_ , Angel just set the dresser on fire.” He set his cup down quickly and wheeled back into the house. “ _Darwin, grab the extinguisher_ ,” he ordered with a finger to his temple as he left Erik’s side to manage the situation and escape from the ever-tempting and always-terrifying thread of Erik’s mind. 

Best to give him space. Best to let him breathe and figure out what he was comfortable with gradually. 

They weren’t _our kids_ , anyway. They were Charles’, and that was fine. Erik was just… a guest, for the time being, no matter how perfectly he clicked into place. Pushing him and trying to label his place there would only make him want to run more.

 _You must be very patient,_ the fox had said in _The Little Prince,_ Charles recalled with a small smile. _First you will sit down at a distance from me. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…_

Yes. He needed to take this slowly. No matter if Erik was attracted to him, or the memory of him, he’d still been through hell and couldn’t fight the instincts he’d so hard-wired into himself. Charles needed to be more careful with his words.

But he couldn’t help but note that for a little while after, while Erik was helping corral them or teach or simply in the same room, the phrase _our kids_ rang through his head like a bell as he turned the idea around, considering how he felt about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Your Song," by Elton John.


	8. Settle Down, It’ll All Be Clear: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets some one-on-one time with the kids, and Charles offers him a gift.

It was lucky for Moira that when she came the next time, Erik was busy assisting Angel on her landings and not paying attention to the front door. He felt the car come up, obviously- that much metal would be impossible to miss- but he didn’t get up there in time, and Raven was the one who brought her down.

“Look who’s here!” Raven grinned, bumping Moira. 

_Ugh_ , Erik thought. Apparently they were friends, which meant that she wasn’t going to assist Erik in running Moira off. He wondered internally if she would change her mind if he somewhat-exaggerated the danger of Cerebro to Charles, but he finally decided that she wouldn’t believe him and that Charles would clarify the situation anyway if he even tried.

“Hey,” Moira said, offering Erik and Angel a smile. Angel waved cheerfully, wings giving a happy beat at her back. “I’m just here to see Charles, I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Target practice after?” Angel asked hopefully, and Moira’s smile widened slightly before she sighed.

“No, unfortunately. I promised the professor that I wouldn’t help you all handle weapons. And, as you’re minors, he’s probably right. You look like you’re doing just fine without it, though.” She nodded to the series of targets that were lightly-smoldering from Angel’s fireballs. Angel grinned in obvious pride and Raven laughed.

“How about Moira and _I_ do target practice, and you can watch and sometimes Moira might accidentally hand you the gun instead of me? Nothing wrong with learning how to protect yourself.” She grinned at Moira again and Erik ignored them, changing out the targets. He didn’t like Moira and probably never would, to be honest. But it was fine. Charles liked her, and the children and Raven liked her. He’d like to think that Hank would be on Erik’s side, but probably she’d just have to mention the _scientific knowledge we could gain_ and Hank’s eyes would glaze over and he’d sign away his soul and Charles’ in the bargain.

Angel made an appreciative sound and watched them leave again, the girls no doubt headed to hunt down Charles and then accompany him into Cerebro. The machine still made Erik nervous. Charles and Hank had continued their experiments over the past week, which always left Charles off-kilter and with a bursting headache that sometimes stretched through his shields and gave the rest of those in the house small headaches as well. It bothered Erik. He felt like Charles was often pushing too much, too hard, and he was going to hurt himself. But Charles just brushed Erik’s worries away, dismissing them with a glowing smile.

Charles always claimed that it was the most extraordinary sensation, lighting up and babbling about it actively to Hank each time they pulled the helmet off him, but there clearly was a degree of pain and mental toll required for the experience. After two or three times of Erik watching the sessions, Charles had kindly pulled him aside and told him that Erik should run training with the kids while Charles was otherwise occupied, so there was always an adult accessible to them.

This made sense, but Erik suspected it was because Charles could hear Erik’s distress at seeing Charles in pain and strapped into the machine. Erik did check in with him afterwards each time, and kept a mental ear out for either Charles reaching for his anchor, or for the movement of Charles’ bracelet to alert him that Charles was moving and done for the day.

It was insane, how intimately aware he had become of the bracelet’s metal. He could find it across the estate, could locate it flawlessly and within fractions of a second. He’d never been so familiar with any metal, not even the spheres he even now kept in his pocket for protection. Probably because he’d never really had a need for such an intimate knowledge of anything.

In a way, Erik was glad he was no longer accompanying Charles into Cerebro. Inside the machine was just a little too clinical, and the helmet, with all its electrodes, really did look far too much like a torture device Shaw might have thought up. The more Charles tried to hide how much it _was_ hurting him, the more uncomfortable it made Erik. After a while, Erik didn’t fully trust himself not to break it accidentally if he was in the room, so it wasn’t a terrible thing to be gently banished from it.

It was safe, Charles had constantly assured him, and other than the headaches and exhaustion that it caused him, and sometimes real pain from the strain, it seemed to be okay. And that smile of Charles’ when he came out of it, the way he lit up… Jesus, it should be outlawed to be that beautiful.

But nonetheless, Erik didn’t like it, and didn’t like Moira’s deal with Charles to use it _more_. He spent a few brief seconds fantasizing about loosening various screws in the machine, not enough to _break_ Hank’s work, but enough to maybe sabotage it for a few days. It had been up and running for almost three weeks now, and Charles never missed a day of training with it. He was starting to develop bruises under his eyes, and he was eating less. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and it made him want to shatter the machine and fuck the consequences. He disliked the way it was affecting the telepath who used it. Since he couldn’t actually destroy it, maybe a sabotage would be enough to let Charles get some rest from it.

Angel, unaware of Erik’s inner tirade against the machine that Moira had come to inspect and watch Charles use, turned back to the targets Erik was stepping away from. She hit one, missed another, and considered the third for a moment before, nearly casually, “So you and the Professor.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. He had been waiting, actually, for someone to say something. He wasn’t naturally touchy-feely even though Charles was, but there had been moments where it had probably been obvious that at least at one time, they had been more than just friendly. That kind of connection never really went away, he had learned- people who had been intimate with each other always had a change in body language, regardless of what their relationship was like later. You could always tell. “What about us?”

“I like him,” she offered in an odd, soft roundabout tone. “I give him shit sometimes because it’s funny, but I like him. Giving people like me and Alex somewhere to belong isn’t the same as giving that to people like Sean and Darwin or Hank, but he acts like it is. He doesn’t act like we haven’t done some shit, and he doesn’t get mad that we still mess up with some shit.”

Erik smiled a little, tilting his head. He understood that feeling, probably better than she could imagine. It was easy to forgive and love people like Sean and Hank and Darwin, people who were soft and sweet and never did things _terribly_ wrong, just silly and gentle pranks or mischief. It was something altogether different for the other three in the house. Charles hadn’t elaborated too much on Angel’s past, but he’d admitted that he had scooped Alex out of a cell. Alex had lost control shortly after manifesting and had blown up a bus. Luckily there had been no deaths, but the damage had still been done and people had been injured. Then he’d fought a fair number of people while locked up and had ended up in solitary. If she was placing herself on the same level as Alex, she must have done something sufficiently similar. She focused on Erik, tilting her head as her wings gave a quick beat at her back.

“I’m not going to assume I can scare you. You’re an adult, and a strong one. Professor doesn’t like to talk about that painting, just that you were his friends and things went wrong, but it’s clear y’all went through some shit together. So I’m not going to tell you to stay away from him, or threaten you.” She shrugged easily. “But don’t break his heart, Eisenhardt. Or ours.” She didn’t meet his eyes with that, and he was oddly and vividly reminded of Zasha growling _dumb story_ after having cried at _The Little Prince._ His heart gave a small squeeze. “He deserves better than that and we’ve all been left by enough people. If you’re going to run away, you should do it now, not when it’s going to be so much worse later.”

Erik considered this. There was no point in denying that he would damage Charles if he disappeared. At this point there was no possible way that he could or would leave without telling Charles why, but she was right. And… adding the children in, saying, essentially, that he would hurt them by leaving too, shook Erik in a way he hadn’t expected. He knew the kids liked him, he wasn’t stupid enough to miss it, but to imply that they would be hurt by him leaving too…

That was something else. Something much more important and more terrifying.

_Our kids._

Erik smiled a little. “I’m not going to hurt your professor, or any of you,” he said gently. “Charles and I have conversations, and he knows what’s going on and where I’m coming from. I don’t plan on disappearing, Angel. If something happens and I need to leave for some reason, I will let you all know. And I will do what I can to come back as soon as I can.” He shook his head. “You and Alex, you understand that you can’t always just fit back in a box again, not even a nice, comfortable, safe box. Sometimes it takes time. Mostly it’s been okay, but there have been moments.” 

Erik would honestly rather go through Shaw’s gauntlet of pain from directly after his first growth spurt again than hurt Charles, but it would be a lie to say that there hadn’t been moments he’d felt panic at his surroundings, that he hadn’t been struck by the urge to leave and travel far from the house with its promise of safety and comfort, from the trap his mind tried to perceive it as at times. “But as you said, we’ve been through some shit together, and I don’t plan on not coming back, even if I have to leave. But I promise you I won’t leave without saying something to someone. I won’t just disappear.”

He would never have imagined making such a promise to anyone a few weeks ago, but it was shockingly easy to do so know now, to this angry yet sweet girl who understood, in some way, his damage. He couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t need to run, but he _could_ promise that if he hit an urge where he couldn’t stop himself from going, he would tell Charles what was happening, and Charles would tell the kids.

“Adults always promise shit like that.” She shook her head grimly, not comforted by this. “And they always lie about it.” She crossed the room to examine the target she’d hit, measuring the distance from the bullseye with her fingers. “Whatever. Just don’t mess him up. You’re supposed to be friends or whatever. Totally platonic probably, just like Frodo and Sam in that gay-ass movie Hank had us watch. Or Gatsby and Toby Maguire in that gay-ass movie the Professor had us watch. Didn’t end well for Gatsby or Sam, though. Maybe because Frodo and Maguire couldn’t man up.” She shot Erik a pointed look, then headed for the door as there were thundering footsteps from upstairs. “You might want to check on the guys,” she advised over her shoulder.

Erik gave a laugh, trying not to to think too hard about how obvious it was to all of them exactly what was going on. “Some adults you can trust,” he told her. “I can’t promise I won’t need to leave, but I can promise that I will tell the professor when I do, and he will let you know. I’m not going to vanish. Now, I want you to keep practicing. You’re getting better. I’ll be back, and until then, I want you to get it closer and closer until you routinely hit the middle.”

He strode upstairs, looking for where the hell the boys were and what they were doing, and Sean skidded to a stop in front of him, barely managing to avoid crashing into the older man.

“Professor Eisenhardt,” he squeaked, backing up. “Sorry, sir, go right ahead.” Erik could see Alex snickering at Sean from the hallway, though Darwin was nowhere in sight. It wasn’t a good sign, considering that Darwin was the one to talk them down from the more chaotic ideas they got up to.

Erik raised an eyebrow, looking him over. It was still absolutely bizarre to hear himself called _Professor Eisenhardt_ , even though he really was, in a lot of ways. “What are you doing, Mr. Cassidy? Professor Xavier informed me today that some of you are missing work and are expected to be completing it. Have you finished your History essay?”

Alex was almost hooting in laughter, having retreated around the corner enough to hear them but not really be seen, which made Erik even more sure there was something going on that he probably needed to stop.

“Of course, sir,” Sean said earnestly, taking steps back rapidly and holding something behind his back. “I was just working on it.”

Erik internally twitched at the taste of metal and narrowed his eyes. It was a butcher’s knife, one of the nice ones from the kitchen block. He flexed a hand and the handle wiggled out of Sean’s hand and flew to Erik. He turned it, considering. Nice metal, good workmanship. Definitely not created for whatever purpose they had in mind for it.

“This is one of Professor Xavier’s _good_ knives. Why, precisely, are you taking it outside, Mr. Cassidy?” Erik looked around him. “Mr. Summers, get your ass out here.” He scooted out the door after a moment, looking slightly nervous but mostly just trying to hide his grin. Erik internally sighed- he hadn’t had enough coffee to deal with this today, and after Angel’s revelation that the kids actually _cared_ , he was in a weird mental place. “What are you two doing? Where’s the third Stooge?”

“Stooge?” Alex asked in interest, and Erik glared at him, giving him his most intimidating stare and knowing, somehow, that it wasn’t nearly as threatening as it used to be. These kids had softened him, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“Mr. Munoz.”

“Um.” Sean looked _extremely_ nervous to be having this conversation when Erik was holding a knife in his hand. Erik internally laughed, but Charles probably was going to have a headache once he was done with Moira and Cerebro, and Erik needed to deal with this now, not let him do so later when one of the idiots injured themselves for real. “Not in this room, obviously. And I just- we _definitely_ weren’t going to try to stab him.” His eyes widened as Alex elbowed him. “What?! I said we _weren’t!_ ”

“Stab him?” Erik stared at them. “Why in the hell are you _stabbing_ each other?! Explain yourselves in some coherent way without me having to weasel it out of you, or I will inform the professor that the jet will _not_ be happening.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “Professor,” he whined. “The jet is for _all_ of us!”

Erik shook the knife slightly to the left of him, but close enough that it was still threatening. “Explain yourselves. I could also pin you up on the roof with knives through the scruff of your sweater and see how long it holds up, just for annoying me.”

“You only have one,” Alex informed him cheerfully, and Erik warped it so that he held two, smaller knives. Alex cleared his throat and looked at Sean, then, “I mean, it wasn’t _stabbing_ , per se, sir, it was _practice_. Like you teach us.”

Erik pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he had definitely picked up from Charles in the last three weeks. “ _And?_ ”

“It’s a _game!_ ” Sean explained in a panicked sort of protest. “Like hide-and-go-seek, only _deadly!_ Except not actually deadly because he adapts!”

Erik stared at them. “And what if he _doesn’t?_ What if he doesn’t see you coming and he _doesn’t_ adapt fast enough?”

Sean opened and closed his mouth, then looked to Alex for support. Alex opened his mouth, then closed it slowly, looking genuinely embarrassed. Erik sighed.

“Use paint guns or something, if you want excitement. Those are hard enough to raise welts if you’re not fast enough, so it’s still a challenge without being deadly. Go ask Mr. McCoy, he likely has something you can use. Gentleman, use your heads. The six of you are all you have. Don’t hurt one another by accident because you didn’t think it through.” He waved a hand at them. “Go away now and just maim each other, I’m done lecturing.” They scampered off and Erik looked heavenward for divine support and patience, then decided to head toward the library. He wanted to concentrate so he could fix this knife before Charles saw it and asked both why Erik had it in the first place and why there were two. He probably wouldn’t approve of Erik’s methods, exactly, and--

“To be fair,” Charles’ voice said from somewhere behind Erik with a soft chuckle, “It was Darwin’s idea.” Erik turned his head and found Charles wheeling himself down the hallway, watching Erik with no small amount of amusement. “Do you know how much that knife set cost, by the way?”

Erik hid them at his sides, a little embarrassed. “I can fix it,” he assured him. “You’ll never know the difference.” It was true, too- while Shaw had been brutal, Erik was far more aware of his limits than most mutants ever would be. Shaw had once broken a smooth metal bar into pieces and asked Erik to repair it. Any tiny blemish or evidence that it had been repaired had been rewarded with getting a bone snapped. Erik had learned, though, and he had confidence that he could fix this flawlessly now. “And before you ask, _no_ , I probably wasn’t going to actually put them on the roof.”

“ _Probably_ ,” Charles echoed with a grin, his eyes sparkling like a Grecian sea. “I don’t actually care about the knives— they were a gift at some dreadful party I had to attend once.”

Erik laughed, relaxing. Something about Charles always eased something tight and painful in his chest, filling a place he never remembered was vacant until the man appeared again. He examined the knives thoughtfully. “Well, do you want me to embed them in the door of some socialite? I can even make a picture.”

“No,” Charles told him warmly, though something in his face flickered. “The socialite in question is no longer-“ his eyes flashed to the staircase, hardening along with his tone. “ _Angel, that is a terrible idea. Absolutely not, put the target down_.” He waited for a moment, in theory for her mental acceptance of his reprimand, and then relaxed. “Lord have mercy. I actually have something for you, Erik, if you’ll follow me. I thought it might be enjoyable for you since I’ll be working on Cerebro all day.”

He didn’t wait, but swiveled his chair expertly and started down the hall. Erik followed him obediently, a little confused, but he’d go wherever Charles wanted him to. _The socialite in question is no longer_ … what? Did Erik accidentally kill him? He _had_ been about to kill one of his friends before, it stood to reason that another could be in the crosshairs.

He still needed to find Delaney, he reminded himself, and saw Charles’ lips turn down slightly, reacting unconsciously to his thought processes. “Yes,” he mused absently. “You _were_ after Delaney… I need to talk to Raven about who ordered that hit. He’s an arrogant ass, but I haven’t seen anything dark enough in his mind to indicate someone would want him dead. Petty greed, perhaps… He does have brothers who stand to inherit.”

Erik knew who it was who had ordered the hit, but he wasn’t about to tell Charles that it was his own sister, and buried those thoughts. Delaney had allowed Charles to hurt himself, had assisted in his self-destruction, and so he needed to pay. That was very simple.

He needed to figure out a time to go do that, come to think of it.

He moved to walk beside Charles. “I never asked. I probably could have found out, but I never asked why they were targeted.”

“I understand. Compartmentalizing was important in your line of work.” He stopped in front of a wooden door and Erik looked around in interest and surprise at the vibrations in the air, nearly overwhelming. He hesitated for a moment longer, then crooked a finger at the handle, and the door swung open. Charles didn’t move, instead allowing Erik to walk forward alone.

It was metal. Spools upon spools of wires, piles of hunks of it, stacks of sleek bars and rods. Silver, gold, copper, bronze, platinum, titanium, alloys of mixes therein. He had never seen so much raw metal all in one place, or so many different varieties. There was one hunk in particular, mottled and encased in rock in the corner of the room, that nearly _sang_ , its melody and vibration utterly unique.

“What the hell is _this?_ ” Erik moved forward, reaching out slowly and stroking it. Metal, so many kinds of metal, shapes and sizes and gorgeous pieces. His brain spun with all the things he could do. He looked around, laughing a little. “What… how long did it take you to _find_ all of this? What is this?” He hadn’t released the hunk in his hands, too transfixed by its odd makeup.

“Adamantium. It’s one of the only chunks we’ve been able to find— it’s desperately rare and highly sought after. It’s the hardest metal in the world.” Charles smiled at it. “Vibranium is more useful because it’s easier to form, but it’s not as hard. It’s also more rare… Logan gave this to me on his last visit, said I could put it to better use than he. And you can put it to better use than I, of course.”

 _Logan_. His mood soured somewhat at the name.

Charles didn’t often mention him, but the kids did sometimes. They _loved_ the man, talked about him like he was a god. Apparently he drove a motorcycle, wore a leather jacket, smoked cigars, chugged beers, and _looked like walking sex_ , the last identifier coming from Raven when she had been giggling with Angel last week. Erik had snapped the swingset in half, nearly shattering it, and had been forced to spend half an hour molding it back into shape again.

Fucking Logan, coming around and then just leaving again, as if Charles was something so easy to abandon. Giving him _presents_ to make up for the fact that he wasn’t interested in giving the best man in the world an actual and satisfactory relationship. Getting to touch him anyway, getting to fist those curls and press his mouth to those constantly-smiling lips--

Erik looked around, grounding himself in the metals surrounding him with a sharp effort when he noticed that some of the rods of metal had unspooled like springs. He pushed the thoughts of _fucking Logan_ away, focusing instead on the room before him. This was an amazing gift- there were so many things he could do, so many different types of things to practice and perfect, so much enjoyment that could be had in this room. The different metals and vibrations literally sang to him like a church choir. His sour mood faded in the face of this, replaced by a sense of excitement, and Erik looked back at Charles with a grin. “This is… this is amazing, Charles. What’s it for?”

He watched Erik for a moment, clearly delighted at the metallokinetic’s reaction to the gift, then, _I wanted you to be able to utilize your power purely. Not to survive, or because it’s that or pain, or because it’s calming, or because you have a job to do. I just wanted you to be able to use it to love what you do. To create something, if you so chose._

Something in Erik’s chest twisted and ached, and he gave the best smile he could, twirling a spiral out of a rod as he tried to get a grip on himself. Charles had given him all of this so he could do something creative, something different. Something beautiful. Charles had gathered these things because he had known that Erik needed an outlet that wasn’t connected to pain or loss. An outlet that Erik hadn’t known he needed.

Often, Erik’s practice was built around the lessons he had learned as a child, and those had come with bad memories. This place, buzzing and almost vibrating with energy and metal, had no connotations to it that would hurt. “Thank you, Charles.” Erik focused on the shimmering adamantium, considering what to do with it, then shook it off. He wanted to wait and make sure he knew what he wanted to do with it before he played with it too much. “It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.” Erik lifted a smooth rod of copper, considering it, and carefully played his fingers along its length, thinking about everything he had ever wanted to do or experiment with for his own reasons and enjoyment but never had the time to do.

How had he known Erik needed that?

There was a very strange lump in his throat as he considered how silently and well Charles took care of all of them.

“To be fair, your history with presents has been severely limited and lacking,” Charles pointed out lightly, not mentioning or pressing on Erik’s emotions if he caught the tenor of them. “Let me know what you end up doing with it all, and if you need any tools, cabinets, or furniture.” He glanced around the room, cluttered and intense. “There’s not much organizational method here, I didn’t know what all you’d be doing, so I just kind of… tossed it.” He shrugged cheerfully, unbothered by this. “I figured you could organize it all with one sweep of your hand. But if you want shelving or anything, I can have it shipped in.”

Erik grinned to himself. Yes, that sounded about right. Charles was messy and insanely disorganized, but it was still the best present he’d ever gotten, and he would take time to figure out what he needed still. “It’s amazing,” he assured Charles. “Fantastic. It is a wonderful gift, thank you.” Something occurred to him suddenly, and he needed to know immediately. “Charles, when is your birthday?” The children were beginning to gear up for Alex’s birthday, Erik remembered, but he didn’t know when Charles had been born. “People make a big deal out of birthdays.”

“July thirteenth,” he replied absently, turning his head slightly as if to listen to something behind him. “Yours is January thirtieth, right?”

July thirteenth. Erik memorized that quickly; he would make sure they had things in place. That made sense, actually- Erik’s mother had believed in times of year corresponding to the personalities. A July child being bright and affectionate and warm made perfect sense, while Erik’s cooler nature corresponded with his month of birth. “Right. What’s going on?” He put the copper rod down, then picked up an iron one. More sturdy, in case he needed to break someone’s skull. “Someone coming?”

“No,” he said slowly, turning back to face Erik with a somewhat troubled expression. “No, I just… thought I heard something. Sorry, it must be my headache. Are you hungry? I can order food, the kids will be delighted to escape cooking duty.” He laughed at that. “Then I have to go and show Moira Cerebro.”

Moira and her damn happiness about winning Charles over on the Cerebro deal. Erik’s mood soured slightly again, and he looked past Charles with a frown. “What did you think you heard?” He expanded his senses, gathering the metal he might need to create strong defenses. “What did you hear?”

“Just old memories.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Sometimes it’s odd to be in this house again. Things… blur a bit sometimes when I’ve got a headache and I’m here.” He shifted his weight in his chair, shaking his head. “It’s nothing, I promise. There’s no threat. I’m going to go ask the children what they’d like to eat before I hole up with Moira and Hank. Any requests on your end?”

Erik searched his face. “You went through a lot here,” he agreed quietly. He didn’t know exactly how much, but he knew enough, and he could feel the metal of Charles’ bracelet being twisted and turned in his usual nervous gesture. “You can always tell me, if you need me to take the little heathens away so you can catch your breath. You always do when I have problems.” Erik shook his head. “And no, just please not Thai from that last place. I’m not sure about the quality of Thai food this far out in the country. We need to go into the city for that. Other than that, I’ll eat whatever. Thank you, Charles. Seriously. This is amazing. I’ll have a lot of fun here.”

Charles’ face lit, breaking into a true smile, and he nodded, beginning to wheel himself back into the hall. He paused, turning his head back to Erik as if he’d called his name, and searched his expression slowly as the smile faded.

“Erik.” He had the oddest frown on his face now, watching him. “You… do know that my legs, that what happened that night, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t you?”

He was as sweet and endlessly forgiving as he ever had been. Even with this. Erik shook his head. He had known that they’d have this conversation at some point. “I knew better. I knew what defiance like that would do, but I didn’t talk to Shaw. I let you go off alone. And then when I came in and saw you…” He shook his head again, harder, trying to banish the image in his mind. “I tried to kill him, and that’s why what happened, happened. If I’d talked to him, if I had been logical, he wouldn’t have. He hurt us sometimes in ways that should have killed us, but he brought in healers. If I hadn’t pissed him off, he would have gotten you healed.”

“Erik.” Charles reached up, catching Erik’s face in his hands, and looked at him with an odd mixture of pity and pain. “Erik, _I_ made that decision. I knew what hiding Beck would cost me, I knew they would figure out what I had done. She was dying, and frightened, and I couldn’t live with myself if I had let them take her. I made the decision to shield her out of my own motives. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, although Shaw was possessive and aggressive over you. I _rerouted Emma’s mind_. Her shields, as strong as they were, weren’t strong enough to stop my projection. That made me a threat. It made me uncontrollable. I could have made her believe the mansion was on fire and had her unlock the doors for us. I could have done it to Shaw, even. I showed my hand, there was no way he was going to let me live with the rest of you after he knew how strong I actually was. He realized that I couldn’t be brought to heel, and he decided that it wasn’t worth the risk for the potential payout. He was going to kill me. He had decided to do it, he was just playing with his food when you came in. He had already cut my spine. If you hadn’t distracted him and given him something else to focus on, he would have ended it. As was, he became so pissed about you that he almost forgot about me. You are the reason I’m alive.”

Erik blinked up at him, confused and not entirely sure that he could believe it, because it would be just like Charles to say something like that, to make him feel better. “But…” Erik searched around, thinking hard. It made sense. He was right- that level of power had to have frightened Shaw in a way he had never been before. Charles was uncontrollable, powerful, and Shaw knew that he’d have to do something. So he had done something.

Erik… Erik was the reason that he had been hurt. Probably the reason that Beck and Zasha had died. Beck and Zasha were going to die anyway; he was right, Beck had been on her way out, and Zasha’s attitude would never have earned her any kind of freedom. Erik had never known anyone to “make it out” but Emma and Shaw talked about it happening all the time with some of the bodies that had vanished, assuring their ‘students’ that it was perfectly possible to ‘graduate.’ They had lied. The girls were going to die anyway. Erik hadn’t doomed them, really, only moved up their death date. He had accepted that a long time ago.

But… but maybe he wasn’t the reason that _Charles_ had been hurt, the reason he had ended up on that table, or tossed out later, and that idea made his chest loosen slightly from the bind he had forgotten was there because he had lived with it so long.

“You saved my life, my friend.” Charles smiled down at him slightly. “I’m so sorry, I… I thought you knew, or I would have explained that to you the night we met. None of it was your fault. Shaw pushed me out the elevator because we kissed, yes.” A smile curved his lips, the metal of his bracelet warm and happy against his skin. “But he was smart enough to use that, even through his anger. He would have used me to keep you in line if he could have. You’d stopped being afraid for yourself by then, I would have been the perfect threat to keep you from hauling off on him. He would have kept us alive and well as long as he could have.

“His decision to mutilate and kill me was entirely based on _my_ actions. Not yours. It wasn’t your fault that we got separated. It isn’t your fault that I am in this chair. You are the only reason I am alive right now. If you hadn’t come for me, you would have woken up the next morning, been told about me passing away in the middle of the night— maybe the burnout from rerouting Emma was too much, maybe it gave me an aneurism— and then you would have continued being trapped there. The fact that you came for me saved us both.” He shook his head.

Erik leaned into his hands, this knowledge shattering everything he’d thought about that night, one of the worst moments of his life utterly rearranged by his simple logic. “You wouldn’t lie to me about that,” Erik confirmed. He wouldn’t either. Not so soundly or easily; lying didn’t come naturally to him and he’d promised long ago never to lie to him. “Thank you.” Erik closed his eyes, feeling a stupid amount of relief coursing through him.

Charles’ forehead rested against Erik’s briefly. “If you ever need reassurance, I can show you the pieces of that night. But I wouldn’t want you to have to be back there, even in memory. I would spare you from it if I could.” He pulled back, smiling a little. “I, on the contrary, soundly understood that I _had_ in fact gotten you killed up until the moment you found me at the party.” He laughed as he dropped his hands and Erik looked up at him.

“You didn’t get me killed, _liebe_. I have come to the understanding that Shaw would never have killed me, not back then. He’s had plenty of opportunities since, and I think he honestly wouldn’t make that move until he had to.”

“Mm. So you say. I’ve got to get the kids food.” He returned his hands to his wheels and deftly maneuvered out of the doorway. “I’ll have Sean bring you some!” He called over his shoulder, then vanished down the hall in more cheerful spirits. Erik rolled his shoulders and sat down on the floor in the middle of the metal room, spinning tops out of tiny spheres.

It hadn’t been his fault. Erik smiled, taking in a deep breath. It hadn’t been his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title this week is from "Home" by Phillip Phillips.
> 
> On a personal note: My world and personal life just went to shit in the most colossal way. If anyone has any comments, questions, or feedback, distractions have never been as appreciated as they are right now. Or I’m occasionally on Tumblr as @goosenik, so give me a shout if you find anything funny or ever want to talk? I know I’m a relatively unimportant fic writer in the dusty corner of the Cherik fandom, but I love you all and hope your day goes better than mine.


	9. I Would Bet on Us: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past catches up to each of our boys, and they have to face their trauma head-on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who left Goosenik positive comments last time. You have no idea how much I love your feedback on the story and your support on my life. Charles sends his love to each and every one of you.
> 
> Also:: Dedicating this chapter to LyraPerwinkle! You've been popping up since Chapter 5 and, like Eeiris, have actually influenced pieces of the story and scenes that appear simply by offering your feedback. We appreciate your input and loyalty so much and hope you're enjoying the ride. Thank you for making an impact, dearest reader. I hope your week has been a lovely one. <3

“I know we used to have one somewhere.” Charles frowned at the storage room, drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair. Erik and Sean had been sorting through boxes on shelves for almost an hour, searching for an elusive record player that Sean had asked about early in the morning and that Charles was sure was still somewhere in the house. “My father used to listen to records all the time… Maybe check in that top box? Up there.” He pointed at a box high up on a shelf and Sean scrambled up, perching precariously to heft the box down.

Erik was distracted from the main goal of the mission. He’d found a box of old textbooks from the forties and was reading on the properties of different metals with great amusement. He had been equally interested in an old photo of Charles’ mother and father that had been stuck into one of the boxes.

Charles let his eyes wander to the photograph as Sean sifted through the box in question. His mother was smiling and pregnant with him, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She was hugging Charles’ father with her other arm, both of them standing in front of the mansion. His father’s sleeves had been rolled up and his hands were dirty, a bag of gardening soil abandoned in the background of the photo. Charles liked to think he could see pieces of his face in that of the older man. Maybe the nose, the shape of the eyes, a freckle pattern here and there. He knew that they didn’t truly resemble each other in anything but personality, but it was a nice thought, to think there were still pieces of Brian Xavier in the world, in him.

He glanced up to find Erik beside him, examining the photo again with a smile. “Your father looked like you,” he said. “Your mother not so much… other than the hair, I suppose. He looks like a good man.” He held it out to Charles. “You should frame that. It’s good to have pictures of people who cared about us.” Charles had noticed that Erik had framed the photo he had been given of him and his mother; it sat on his bedside table. “Sean, if we can’t find the player here in a minute or two we’re going to just have to give up here and look elsewhere, there’s only so much we can do and we’ve got things I want to get through today.” He frowned up at the boxes. “I don’t _feel_ anything shaped like that, but it’s been so long since I’ve touched a record player, I don’t know what kind of metal or the shapes of that metal either. Other than the needle, which was sometimes plastic anyway.”

Sean sighed in disappointment, continuing to hunt through the box in front of him, and Charles set the photo aside, wondering briefly and absently if it would be possible to just keep the half of the photo with his father in it.

“Dil-aw-did. Dil-ow-did?” Sean’s voice froze Charles in place, ice replacing his bloodstream, and Charles turned his head slowly to see Sean squinting at a small glass bottle captured between his fingers. “Generic for hydro-”

“Sean, give that to me.” Charles’ voice sounded disembodied and strange, his skin prickling violently at the sight of the bottle in his student’s hand. His back was searing suddenly, almost certainly a psychosomatic response, but he couldn’t focus on that over the roaring sound in his ears.

“What is it?” Sean asked curiously, trying to read the tiny and smudged label, and the ice in Charles’ veins broke up, allowed for motion and panic to resume.

“Sean, _give it to me now._ ” He couldn’t tell, during or after, if it was surprise, fright, or compulsion that made Sean toss the bottle to Charles. He caught it, his hand locking around the familiar shape like a vise, and he found that his lungs were suddenly stiff and tight, not quite succeeding in bringing air into his body. He struggled for calm, ignoring the sudden itching at his arm and the thin sheen of sweat across his skin, desperately shoring up his shields as if bracing a levee for impact. He needed to keep the panic and hunger in, needed to control it, needed to lock it down where it couldn’t affect the entire mansion—

“Professor?” Sean’s brow creased and Erik pointed up.

“That’s medicine for when he had his accident, Sean. You all shouldn’t be bothering with it. Look up there.” He directed Sean with one hand, the other resting on Charles’ shoulder, the bracelet giving his wrist a squeeze. “What about that one? It might be in there.”

_I can take it if you want to get rid of it._

There was no judgement in Erik’s tone, just an offering to dispose of it if that was what Charles wanted. Calm and steady, like he always was, his mind a pool of mercury beside the barely-contained hurricane that was Charles’ mind at the moment.

Charles shut his eyes, focusing on forcing hoarse breaths into his lungs. Control it, suppress it. It was just a bottle, just a medicine. It didn’t mean anything. It was out of Sean’s hand, the only danger was to Charles and he was strong enough to handle this. The panic slowly abated and he managed a better breath, one that came more loosely, prying his fingers off the death grip they had on the bottle.

Sean was sifting through the next box and Charles allowed the briefest lax in his shields to glance at the boy’s thoughts. He felt vaguely bad for reminding his professor of the ‘accident,’ but there was no deeper suspicion about the bottle or fear of Charles’ reaction within his mind. Charles withdrew again, buried himself back in his shields, and looked down at the bottle slowly.

It was such a small thing, sitting so innocuously in his palm. Just another harmless object, only dangerous in the hands it was placed in. Charles swallowed, nudged it with a finger. It wobbled slightly, but of course did nothing else. Charles tried to ignore the way his mouth had gone dry, tried to ignore the way his various and constant aches and pains were so much stronger at the moment.

It would be like falling asleep, or like falling in love with Erik. It would be the easiest thing in the world to slip back into that pattern, to accept the rush and warmth and euphoria that this tiny bottle could offer.

Erik moved between him and Sean, ostensibly looking through a box, but in reality shielding Charles from Sean’s gaze, if the boy were to turn around. Erik said nothing more about it, didn’t even look at Charles, his mind simply calm and slightly… sad. He understood, Charles realized suddenly, the urge to disappear into something, and he wasn’t blaming Charles for having that urge, those wants. But there was also no doubt in Erik’s mind that Charles wouldn’t lose himself again. Erik’s thoughts were filled with calm, with an absolute trust that Charles would overcome and move past this moment, with the quiet knowledge that Charles was strong enough to resist now. It wasn’t even conscious thought really, not Erik pushing at him to make the right choice, simply an understanding of the world as Erik saw it.

Charles hadn’t fully realized that Erik knew about his past addiction, but as he pressed just a little further, _needing_ to know which moment had given him away, he saw that first night they had been reunited. Charles had been in his undershirt with his arms bared to air as they almost never were, and Erik had touched the scarring on his skin without horror. Erik had been nothing but sad and pained that Charles had gone through something like that in the first place.

Charles took a deep breath, reached out, and dropped the bottle into Erik’s pocket with slightly unsteady fingers as the rest of the panic and chaos bled from his mind. He had been clean for six years. He had gotten his degree, he had become a foster parent, he had opened this school. He had found Erik again, had somehow still held Erik’s trust and affections. He wasn’t going to throw any of that away, not when they were the only things that mattered.

He had gotten two second chances at this life. He had lived despite the injury that had cost him his legs, and then he had lived despite the overdose that had tried to stop his heart. He wouldn’t get a third chance, and he wouldn’t need it.

_Do what you like with it_ , he told Erik, feeling oddly drained from the experience. Perhaps it was that it had been a surprise. _But don’t let Raven see it and don’t throw it somewhere the kids could find it._

_I’ll take care of it,_ Erik promised easily, reaching behind him without looking and touching Charles’ hand briefly. _I had no doubts that you’d give it up. I’m proud of you._ “Found the bastard,” he declared, pulling a battered turntable out of a box from the top shelf with a smile. “All right, Sean, grab that box of records over there and take it up, I’ll put the rest of the boxes away and bring the player with me.”

Sean darted off, his mind full of triumph and excitement for the records, and Erik looked back at Charles with a small smile. “Your father used this a lot,” he said, gesturing to the turntable. “We’ll need to replace the needle, and maybe a few other parts here and there. For the most part it’s usable, though.”

“Yeah. Knew it was here somewhere.” Charles smiled at it, tracing his fingers across the edge as he had dim memories of his father doing. “Thank you, Erik.” He didn’t look up at him, but brushed against that mercury mind gently.

There was nothing but warmth there, acceptance and pleasure that he could help. “You don’t ever have to thank me for things like that,” he said firmly. “And we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You made the right choice. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He nodded, and caught Erik’s fingers just to feel them, revealing quietly in the sensation of his skin, grounding himself further with the touch. “It’s been a long time. Normally I would be fine, I think. I just wasn’t expecting it to come up today, or for Sean to be holding it.”

“I understand.” Erik looked down at him with a smile, not moving his hand away. “I’m sorry for the shock- I’m sure it was difficult. But you did the right thing. It wasn’t easy but you did it. I had no doubts.”

“I know. Thank you for that.” Charles squeezed his hand, then released it, placing the record player in his lap. He wheeled himself out of the room, distracting himself with the thread of Sean’s enthusiasm and excitement in the dayroom and Erik’s soft contentment at his back.

* * *

It was a week later, in the fifth week of Erik’s stay, that the calm finally broke.

Charles had been in the library, massaging his now-constant headache as he compared Hank’s notes on Cerebro to a study on telepaths done in early 2000, when he heard the mental explosion, the journal study falling to the ground as he recoiled.

It was just a cacophony of the children yelling for him, pounding and crashing from the basement, and, loudest of all, a blast of fear and rage and what felt very like something edging on insanity from Erik. Just splinters of a bone-deep terror, his mind screaming for Charles to take the kids and run, his power going wild down in the basement.

Beneath it all, echoes of memories of a song and Shaw, blood and screaming.

“ _ **Upstairs, now!**_ “ Charles snarled it, fingers brushing his temple reflexively as he gave the order, allowing the compulsion he so meticulously kept caged to bleed through. One mind, two, three, four, up the stairs as Charles sped to the staircase. He caught Darwin’s arm, hitting the brakes on his wheelchair just in time to narrowly miss hitting him. Alex had an arm locked around Angel’s shoulders, having hauled her bodily up the stairs, and she wasn’t actually fighting that, which was proof enough of her own alarm. Sean was behind them, pale and wide-eyed. 

“What happened?” Charles asked Darwin sharply, staring down at the staircase and mentally calculating his chances of getting down it in his chair. If he held onto the rail, he was, perhaps, strong enough to slide and keep the chair from fully crashing down the steps.

“We turned on the radio and he freaked out!” Darwin pushed at the others fast, his skin the dark armorlike surface he used in extremis. “Professor Eisenhardt’s down there, he’s throwing things around and yelling and he was yelling in German, we don’t…” he looked back down the stairs, gripping Charles’ arm. “Don’t go down there, Professor, he’s crazy, he’s freaking out. He’ll hurt you.”

“He won’t hurt me.” Charles dismissed it without a thought, the concept ludicrous enough not to merit consideration. “Darwin, take the others and wait outside the house. I’ll call for you when it’s safe to come back in. Hank and Raven are in town, but if they come back, keep them out there too. Do you understand?” Charles focused on Armando’s eyes, struggling to maintain calm in the wake of the screaming mental chaos and terror below him. Erik’s thoughts and mind were hard enough to stay out of normally, much less when it was _this_ horrific, this loud, this terrified.

“Professor,” Angel began, and Charles didn’t look away from Darwin.

“Mr. Munoz, _do you understand?_ ”

Darwin nodded shakily. “Yes, sir.” He pushed at the others, of whom, only Sean slowly moved. “Come on, let’s go. We need to go.” He was worried for Charles, more afraid for his professor than frightened of Erik, but he was still going to listen and go where Charles told him to, protect his classmates.

“Sir, let us come with you,” Alex said, staunchly not moving. “He could hurt you. We’ve trained for all of this stuff.”

“You haven’t trained to talk someone out of a PTSD episode,” Charles disagreed as gently and firmly as he could. “He will not hurt me, but I can’t be focused on all of you at the same time and I don’t know that he will recognize you. I need you to be outside so I can help him come out of it. Go now, Mr. Summers.”

Alex bit his lip, unsure and upset, but his mind was focused on Angel, who was already protesting the idiocy of the idea that someone could talk a mercenary out of a flashback. She demanded to come with Charles, and Alex pulled her away, toward the doors, as he considered something hitting her in the insanity that was going on downstairs. “Be careful,” he called back, pulling her away and pushing Sean in front of him as Darwin brought up the rear. The door swinging shut cut off Angel’s cursing and Charles allowed himself the briefest of smiles, then focused on the horror below him. He hesitated, mind whirling over the options to get down the stairs, and then he grimaced, deadening the pain receptors in his body. He’d already wasted too much time convincing the kids to leave, he should have compelled them again, but he’d wanted them to understand, hadn’t wanted to take their free will.

So he unlocked the brakes and wheeled himself forward, allowing himself and the chair to crash down the steps.

He laid at the bottom for a moment, taking inventory quickly. It hadn’t hurt, of course, that was the entire beauty of blocking the receptors. Nonetheless he could tell that there was going to be heavy bruising, and he’d potentially fractured a finger. His teeth had broken through his lip and he could taste blood, but the teeth themselves were intact and so that was fine. His head had hit the steps at one point, and he touched it briefly. No blood yet, and it wasn’t serious. Good, all good.

He moved rapidly, straightening his chair with effort and swinging himself back into it before wheeling down the hall as quickly as he could. He stopped in the doorway to the room Erik was in and held still for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him.

Erik was standing in the middle of a maelstrom of large pieces of metal, fragments of the legs of chairs and tables or screws and nails, snarling in German in a rough voice, eyes wide and wild, rage and terror coming off him in waves. There were pieces of metal embedded in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, but those pieces ripped back out after a few seconds, rejoining the small hurricane around Erik.

_“Little Lensherr, did you_ really _think you’d be able to just leave?” Shaw’s smile was sharp, his teeth bright white and feral in his face. He was holding ceramic pruning shears, tracing them slowly over a very young Erik’s fingers. A song was playing on the small radio speaker set into the wall, the tune old and frighteningly jolly in contrast to the terror blooming across Erik’s vision as Shaw lifted Erik’s index finger, setting it lightly within the grip of the shears._

“Erik,” Charles said sharply, firmly, keeping himself locked into reality rather than Erik’s flashback by allowing some of the pain in his body to return to functioning. “Erik, look at me.” He didn’t move right away and Charles curled his hand into a fist, feeling his heart ache and pound painfully in his chest. “Erik... _sieh mich an_. Look at me, _sieh mich an._ ”

His German was clumsy at best, formed from pieces of Erik’s memories and a few studies of his own here and there, but it seemed to be successful to a degree. Erik’s head snapped around, eyes locking on his, and he took a sharp step forward. _Charles, take the kids and run, Shaw’s here, he’s coming, you need to get the kids and run. He’s angry and--_

“Shaw isn’t here.” Charles kept his voice low and soothing, his hands held palm-up in front of him. “Shaw _ist nicht hier_ , Erik. He is not here. I would know if he was here. Erik, it’s not real. It’s a memory. You’re in the mansion. Our mansion. Sieh mich an, it’s a memory. You’re safe. The kids are safe. _Alles ist gut._ ”

The metal swirling around Erik slowed slightly, hands jerkily lowering. He shuddered, looking around with sightless eyes that placed the room in Hallow Hall rather than the Westchester mansion. _He was here. He was here. He is here, he’s going to hurt us._

“He wasn’t here.” Charles moved slightly closer, but didn’t touch him, didn’t get too close. He’d researched PTSD extensively, wanting to understand what was happening in his own head and how to help others in the same position. Touch could ramp Erik up, could make him feel more trapped and panicked if he didn’t want it yet.

Erik’s mind was starting to be less frantic, helped by Charles’ words and the constant pulses of soothing calm Charles was sending to him, but he needed grounding, not touch. Not yet, even though all Charles wanted in the entire world was to hold him and stroke his hair, reassure him that he would never let Shaw touch any of them.

Charles held eye contact with Erik and raised his wrist, unclasping his bracelet carefully and holding it out to him. “Look at this. Focus on this, Erik, not anything else. _Alles ist gut_ , just take this and touch it. Listen to the metal, feel it, touch the links. Nothing else matters but _this_ metal, do you understand?”

Slowly, Erik reached out and took it, fingers running over the links of the metal, and gradually, almost painfully slowly, the metal whirling and spinning around them lowered to the ground. His mind still struggled, hearing Shaw’s voice in the hallways, but the texture of the bracelet was helping to ground him as he tried to focus just on the metal between his fingers.

Charles continued speaking to him, a soft, constant litany of words out loud and in his head. He continued with his clumsy German and with his more eloquent English, pointing out details of the surroundings to Erik. The headphones Angel had left on the chair, the juice box Sean had abandoned beside Charles’ left wheel, the book Darwin had been looking for. Things and details that made it impossible for them to be in Hallow Hall.

Erik sat down heavily on the floor, running the metal through his fingers, and as the panic and terror slowly bled away, it was replaced with embarrassment and self-disgust. He drew in on himself a little, keeping his eyes fixed on the bracelet.

_Did I hurt the children?_ The words dripped with pain.

“No,” Charles said gently, surreptitiously wiping the blood from his lip onto his sleeve. He deadened the pain receptors again now that Erik’s mind and flashback weren’t so vivid. “Why do you think we train them, Erik? They’re more than capable of keeping themselves safe.” He hit the brakes on his wheelchair and maneuvered himself out of it, dropping inelegantly to sit on the ground beside Erik. It was a clumsy gesture, one he hated intimately, but this moment wasn’t about him. “You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“But I could have.” He looked away from Charles. “They’re comfortable around me, they don’t even… it was _luck_ , fucking _luck_ , that they were able to protect themselves. They don’t shield themselves around me because I've proven they don’t have to.” His voice twisted.

“It wasn’t luck,” Charles disagreed immediately. “We _train_ them to protect themselves, we train them to understand how to handle danger when it comes.”

“I could have killed them, Charles. I could have killed _you_. Why the hell did you come down here on your-” Erik’s head snapped up and he examined Charles quickly, his eyes taking in what he was actually seeing for the first time. “What the hell? How the fuck did you get down the stairs? Did someone beat the shit out of you?” He reached out, shaking down his sleeve to wipe away some of the blood from the cut lip, expression twisting. “What stupid thing did _you_ do, Charles?”

“I threw myself down the stairs in my chair,” Charles offered cheerfully. His smile probably would have hurt if he could have felt pain, but it was just a cut lip, it wasn’t too bad, and he hadn’t released the pain receptors even now. “I’ll thank you to fix it- I think one of the wheels is bent a bit.” Erik snorted at that, taking in a slow breath and slowly righting the wheel, a way to ground himself a little more, and Charles reached out, anchoring his fingers loosely around his anchor’s wrist.

“Erik,” he said gently. “You had a flashback. You didn’t intend to, you couldn’t control it, and really, all things considered, you managed to get out of it relatively quickly. No damage was done, my friend.”

Erik closed his eyes, anger and self-disgust and pain warring in his head. “Charles, you could have just- you could have just spoken to me from the top, you shouldn’t have _thrown yourself down the stairs_. And there’s plenty of damage.” He looked around. “Look at this place. We won’t be able to use it for ages.”

“Fine with me,” Charles countered flippantly. “I’ve hated this room ever since Kurt locked me in it for a week. Erik, I love you.” He looked at him calmly as Erik’s mind stuttered on that particular detail, his thoughts warping and twisting in surprise and shock. “It’s something I’ve become very familiar with in the past seven years, the concept and understanding that humans and mutants as a whole don’t share their affections enough. And I’m not in the mood and this isn’t the time to examine _how_ I love you, but I do. You are the single most incredible individual I have ever met in my life, and I’m not going to ever stand by and listen to you experience that kind of hell when I could get to you and help you more quickly in a slightly messier way. You’re my best friend.” _To say the least._

Erik leaned forward, resting his forehead on Charles’ shoulder. He was happy at the admission, relieved and scared at the same time. Very few had ever loved him in any way. _You know I do too, right?_ It was just a whisper, but it was there, projected. The same words he’d said after their first time. Charles shut his eyes with a smile, resting his cheek against Erik’s head as Erik continued quietly. “Best friend. I like that. But I’m still pissed at you for throwing yourself down the stairs. You could have had someone carry you and the chair down or something. You look like you’ve been in a prize fight and you lost.” He laughed a little, actual concern beneath that.

“I can’t feel it,” Charles assured him. “I stopped the pain receptors.” He didn’t vocalize how much he hated the numbing. It didn’t matter. _You guys can come back inside, everything’s fine_ , he sent to the kids, and rested a hand on the back of Erik’s neck. “ _Alles ist gut_ , Erik. Everything is okay. I explained to the kids the first day that you might have a flashback at some point. They understand what that means. Being in a manor full of four young mutants is so similar, such an obvious parallel to your youth, I’m shocked it didn’t happen earlier. There’s nothing wrong with you. You didn’t scare them too badly, you didn’t hurt them. It’s nothing irreparable or unforgivable.”

_Don’t leave_ , Charles didn’t beg. He never begged, and he wouldn’t now. _Please stay._

But, if space was what Erik needed, then he would of course stand aside and allow it.

Erik rested his hands on Charles’ hips, taking in a deep breath. He was trying very hard not to let everything overwhelm him again, but Charles could feel the barely-contained panic and stress all the same, straining to break loose and overwhelm him again. “I don’t want to leave. I am going to take a walk, though, and then I’ll come clean this up and apologize to the kids.”

Charles hadn’t even known he had projected the words. He ignored the tiny sting of embarrassment and nodded. “I understand. Don’t worry about cleaning it up though-- truly, I don’t care one way or another about this room. Or the house, for that matter.” He pulled back and looked around, then pulled himself up and onto his chair again. “There’s a few cars in the garage, if you’d like to drive for a while,” he found himself offering, knowing how being surrounded by the metal and moving might help Erik to calm. “The keys are in the cabinet above the sink in the kitchen. I’ll take care of things here, go ahead and blow off some steam.” He offered a smile.

“Okay.” Erik nodded and reached up, touching the edge of what felt very like a bruise on Charles’ cheek. “You are far too good for anyone,” he informed him gently. “I’m sorry, but… thank you. For not throwing me out.” He stood. “I’ll help you up the stairs and then I’ll take you up on that car idea.”

Charles allowed him to help him up the stairs, watched him drive away, and then settled down with the students to explain what had happened and why. They were shaken, but they understood. Angel and Alex related more than Sean and Darwin could, but none of them held Erik’s panicked actions against him, which sent a wave of relief through him.

It was going to be okay, Charles assured himself tightly as he felt Erik’s mind move further and further from his own. It had to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title this time is from "Dead Sea" by The Lumineers. 
> 
> Also-- we just started posting a new Cherik fic! It alternates on posting days with this fic (every 5 days just like this one does) and is an enemies-to-lovers Dadneto piece. We like it a lot and hope you will too, give it a glance if you think about it!


	10. How Can I Desert You: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik makes a decision about the safety of his new family following his episode, and pays Delaney Durante a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a bit late for some of them, but Happy Holidays to our beloved readers. The solstice and Hanukkah are both passed, and Christmas, Boxing Day, and Kwanza are in the next few days. Whatever you celebrate, or if you choose not to, I hope that you have a good and celebratory winter season.

Erik stepped out of the car, parked neatly in its spot in the garage, and admired it for a moment. Leave it to Charles to have an Aston Martin of all things, and one that he couldn’t drive, besides. It drove like a dream, though, the metal frame, the coils, the very bolts purring under and around him. He’d have to take drives more often— he hadn’t even known there was a garage. It was through one of the doors in Hank’s lab that he hadn’t gone through yet.

His hand fell back to his pocket, where Charles’ bracelet still weighed. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to use it to locate Charles, but it was deeply disconcerting to feel the metal beside him, where Charles was not. He’d gone straight to the car and driven hard away from the manor. He hadn’t realized for half an hour that the links were still gripped in his hand, that he’d never returned it to its owner. It had helped- tracing the links, every tiny defect and scratch, the metal formed by his own power, had helped ground him more than he would have expected.

Erik had imagined that he might, at some point, lose it. He hadn’t expected a PTSD attack from such a nominally innocent source as a radio, of course, but the song had started, the first bar or so enough to send him spiraling back into being a terrified child almost physically sick with pain, and he had just completely lost it. He could have killed the children, could have killed _Charles,_ who had _thrown himself down the stairs_ to reach Erik and calm him down.

He had been thinking about that a lot, thinking about the kind of person who would do that for someone else. He had considered what exactly Charles had done and what he had risked, and the likelihood that such a thing could happen again, and Charles would put himself in danger again.

The idea of waking up out of a PTSD episode and realizing that he had hurt Charles or one of the children was vivid and plausible, enough so almost to send him back into a panic attack. It would have been so easy. Humans were so fragile. One piece of metal that he wasn’t controlling as well as he needed to could rip through a lung, a throat, an artery. Shaw had trained him so intensely to _find_ those vulnerable spots, to go for them automatically, and Erik himself had continued to perfect those instincts and skills in the last few years. It was more than likely that, if he lost control again, he would do true and potentially lethal damage.

It had been luck that the kids had dodged everything and gotten upstairs in time. Luck that Charles hadn’t broken his neck falling down the stairs in the first place. Luck that he hadn’t accidentally seen Charles as Shaw and ripped into him before he realized what he was doing, those blue eyes blank and lifeless forever. Any one of those ideas made him feel sick- he could have lost control and seriously hurt someone. It would have been _his_ fault.

Honestly… honestly, maybe he should leave for a while, try to get hold of himself until he knew that he could protect himself and the others. Maybe he should find somewhere to go where he couldn’t hurt them and train, practice with triggers, until he knew for a fact that there was nothing that could hurt them, not from that.

The idea of leaving them, of leaving the little home he had carefully fit himself into, hurt, almost physically hurt. The idea of being away from Charles, unable to see him, listen to him speak, listen to him laugh and talk to the children, was… it was difficult to imagine how terrible that would be.

Not as terrible as it would be if he accidentally hurt one of them, though.

He shut the car door and headed for the main house, trekking across the grounds silently. He saw flashes of light from the rooftop— Alex, he decided, maybe practicing with his mutation where there was less chance of doing damage. The grass was a better decision. He wouldn’t be able to blow a hole in the ground and cause leaking.

He made a mental note to mention this to Alex and felt a twinge of self-disgust _(if the children still want to speak to me after the bullshit I pulled, anyway),_ then looked around at a small pulse. Charles was aware he was back home, then. He braced himself for the conversation he was about to have and felt Charles’ mind pull back from his own, flickering an image of the library to him.

Erik took a deep breath and focused forward, continuing walking with only a slight pause. Even now, Charles was showing him trust, giving him the benefit of security and privacy. _Now,_ when Erik had proven that he really wasn’t safe to be trusted with that, Charles continued giving him everything he needed but didn’t deserve.

Erik let himself into the mansion and set the keys on the table by the door. The table, he noted with a little amusement, had been broken and the kids had duct-taped it back together. He fought back the impulse to call up the stairs or into the family room to ask who had done it, reminding himself again that they might not want to talk to him and, even if they did, he was on his way out.

Just for a while, he clarified just to his own mind. Not forever.

It was nerve-wracking to consider. He would miss Charles and the house, yes, but also… they would be that much less protected. Erik was, at present, the biggest threat in their lives. He understood that now. But Shaw still loomed in the background, an ever-present threat and mystery. He had to know that Charles was alive. The only way Charles would have gotten out of the Hall was by Shaw or Emma’s hand, which stood to reason that he would then be under watch even now. They would be watching and if they knew that Erik was there, they were more likely to attack.

Charles himself had admitted that he was worried that Shaw would come back, would try to take the children that he had so carefully gathered and trained. Erik could see the possibility all too clearly, Shaw taking the window of Erik’s absence as leave to attack, as well. Charles was strong, yes, but he hadn’t ever been able to get into Shaw’s mind. Alex was formidable but was unsure about acting out in a lethal way. Hank was nearly useless in a fight. Angel had more than a little fighting spirit in her, but she hadn’t done nearly enough combat training with him. Darwin possessed a primarily-defensive mutation, and Sean didn’t have the discipline to practice.

They had Raven, he reminded himself weakly. Raven was strong. He had seen her fight plenty of times, and she was quite formidable. All of them together could put up a good show, may even be able to defend and maintain the mansion.

But there would almost certainly be casualties in that situation.

He stopped for a moment in the hallway, took in a deep breath. _Paranoia,_ he reminded himself. Charles had often teased him about his paranoid tendencies. The school had been running for a year before Erik had arrived, and they had never been attacked. Just because he left didn’t mean that something would change… and it didn’t change the fact that he was still a threat to them.

He was still the biggest threat to them, right now. The most active threat. He needed to get himself under control to protect the children from him. There was nothing that would make up for it if he hurt one of them by accident, so he needed to get his life back together and figure out how to redirect the craziness that lived in his head.

He walked into the library and fought down the instinctual parallel that rose- Twelve, sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by stacks of books, looking up at him cheerfully from the dusty and battered surroundings. He blinked it away and found Charles in his chair, fingers tumbling over spines of books as he seemed to search for something.

“Hello,” Charles greeted him softly, though he didn’t look around. “You don’t need to worry. Raven’s agreed to stick around a while longer to help watch the kids. We’re due to have Logan visit any day now and Moira will be in the area for a time, so you don’t need to feel obligated to come back any time soon. We’ll have enough supervision to be safe.”

It was odd, the _absence_ of the usual brush of Charles’ mind against Erik’s. Erik had never noticed Charles shielding _against him_ before, hadn’t even fully known that Charles could shield against his own anchor. Perhaps he’d simply never wanted to.

And of course, _Logan_ was coming. Fucking Logan. Erik was leaving because he was too dangerous to be around Charles or the kids and the _walking sex_ was going to be hanging around Charles with no supervision at all. Sure, he could help supervise the _kids,_ but who was going to make sure that he gave Charles the respect and attention he goddamn deserved?

Erik looked away from Charles, at the books surrounding them instead. It was not, in fact, Erik’s place to ask that question. He could have a hundred boyfriends and it wasn’t Erik’s business in the slightest. He had risked the safety of the children, risked Charles’ safety. This Logan, as unsatisfactory a partner as he may be, was not a danger to them. It was none of Erik’s business and it wasn’t his place to say a word, no matter how irritated he was at the very idea of Logan appearing in his absence.

Erik could do nothing but stand there for a moment, upset and unhappy. There was only one thing he _could_ do, but he _wanted_ to do nothing more than sit beside Charles and listen to him tell him that it was going to be all right. Charles was wonderfully comforting and convincing.

But Erik knew that there needed to be no convincing. He needed to go. He shouldn’t be here with them- he was a danger, and threats like him were exactly what they needed to be trained for.

Charles shook his head, taking a deep breath, then looked up at Erik. “I’ve said from the beginning that you aren’t trapped here, and I do mean that.” He looked back at the bookcase, waited a moment, then, “I will miss you terribly, though. If I give you the number, will you call the house from time to time? Or… maybe I could check in sometimes, with Cerebro.” He cleared his throat, pulling out two large books from the shelf. “Not overly often, of course. You’ll have your privacy.”

“Charles.” Erik’s voice was unsure as he reached out, catching Charles’ hand as the telepath’s blankness made Erik’s stomach twist. He had never seen Charles shield like this, and he didn’t like it. He wished he knew what Charles was thinking. “Why… why do you think I’m leaving?”

Why did he even ask the question? _He_ knew that he was leaving, but suddenly he desperately wanted the option to back out, to stay. He wanted, deep inside him where he was in many ways still a scared and frightened boy, to be told that it was going to be okay. He had truly scared himself today, and it was something he was unfamiliar with. For the first time in his life, his gift scared him.

“Because you _are_ leaving,” Charles said simply, his smile sad and tired as he looked up at him, stroking his hand with his thumb. “Because you’re the type to want to protect what you have. Even from yourself. You were having a hard enough time staying, and then after this morning…” he focused on Erik’s hand, and didn’t pull his away. “I know what comes next. I’m just trying to make it easier for you. You don’t have to feel guilty about it, I won’t ever hold it against you.”

Erik smiled a little and crouched in front of him. Charles was such a good person. He would never blame anyone for the things they _should_ be blamed for. “You’re not wrong- I want to protect everything I care about, even from me. And I feel… very unsafe for you, and for the children.” Erik lifted their linked hands, focusing on the shape of Charles’ fingers. “I may need to go and do something. I promised someone that I would. But I will come back.” Erik looked up at him. “I was separated from you once, and neither of us did well. I don’t intend to do it again. I will always come home to you, Charles.”

The telepath took a deep breath, then offered Erik’s fingers a small squeeze. “Go. Do what you need to do. I won’t ever chain you. I can tell the children. They’ll understand, in time. Angel will be a bit bitter, but Darwin will talk her ‘round. He always does. You can keep the car, if you like. It’s not like I can drive it.” He laughed at the thought, but the sound wasn’t as bitter as it could be.

“You’re not a chain, Charles.” Erik didn’t look away from him, wanting him to know this, _needing_ him to know this. “You're my anchor.”

Charles stilled, the fingers of his other hand halfway toward his bookshelf again. “I… what?” He looked back at Erik, looking oddly lost. “You don’t… have an anchor.”

“You are not and never could be a chain.” Erik smiled a little. “Maybe I don’t need one for my ability like you do, but nevertheless, you are. You ground me. I’ve had PTSD episodes before. No one has ever been able to talk me down. No one has been able to do anything to stop it. I have never _not_ wanted to leave. Since I was thirteen, there’s never been a time when I wanted to stay somewhere. I’m having a hard time and I need to go, but that doesn’t mean I _want_ to leave. I’m your anchor and you are mine.”

Charles searched his face, then offered a small smile and squeezed his hand. “Do you still have it?”

“Have it?” Erik frowned a little and Charles sent him a flicker of an image. Erik smiled, then pulled Charles’ bracelet out of his pocket and placed it carefully into Charles’ palm. The telepath relaxed, curling his fingers around it, and lifted the metal to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the links.

It chimed happily there against his skin, the vibrations of the tungsten and platinum strangely beautiful together, making what he had always thought was almost a song.

Erik felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest as he noted the split lip, the bruises here and there that he could see and the ginger way Charles was moving his arm. He had put himself in the way of danger to help Erik. It had worked, but what if it didn’t next time? What if next time, he hurt Charles and woke up to that instead of those beautiful blue, calming eyes?

No. All the emotion and pain and longing and need and _home_ in the world did not make a good excuse for what could have so easily happened. He couldn’t risk Charles.

“Go,” Charles echoed gently, looking up from the bracelet and laying it and his hand against his chest. It was an echo of a moment— he’d done the same thing when Erik had first made it for him. And he was looking at Erik with the same trust he had then, though this one had a tinge of sadness to it. Erik’s stomach flipped over. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be here whenever you get back.”

Erik searched his face, knowing that he _could_ stay. He could stay, try to work on things here, give in to that relentless trust Charles had that everything would be okay and that Erik would be able to control himself.

But he did have one last job to do, and during, he could do some research on controlling things, on how to be better. He needed to go. He needed space to breathe, to think, to re-evaluate.

So he walked out the door.

He crossed to his bedroom, grabbed the battered suitcase that he’d used for his nomadic lifestyle in the last seven years and had hoped he would never have to use again, stuffed clothes in it carelessly. He didn’t want to dawdle. He was barely confident in his ability to drive away as it was. He zipped the case shut and turned, leaving the mansion before he could do anything to talk himself out of this course of action. Charles would explain his absence to the students, he didn’t have to. It was easier if he didn’t even try.

He hesitated for a moment when he caught a glimpse of Angel through a window, laughing at something Raven was telling her. Should he stop and say goodbye? His promise had only been to let Charles know when he left, he reminded himself. He’d never promised to explain himself to her. He wasn’t sure how she would react if he told her he was leaving, although it was sure to be an aggressive response, and he wasn’t sure of how easily he could leave if there was any pain underlying the anger she was sure to reveal. And, if he found her and explained his choices to her, it would make their relationship of sorts that much more _real._ It would mean admitting that she, or any of the kids, _mattered_ to him in a way that he hadn’t let anyone matter to him for seven years.

Charles was different. Charles was the last person he had made any sort of emotional connection to. He could casually admit to liking the kids, but actually and seriously admitting that he _cared_ about them was… different. Foreign. Frightening. It was opening himself up to more avenues of pain, and it was easier to be short and brusque, to just leave, than to open himself up to that.

So he turned away from the window, loaded his bag into the Aston, and drove away without saying anything to her or to the boys. There was a strange ache in his throat and burning in his eyes as he drove farther and faster. He had never left a home, not really. When Shaw had taken him, he’d thought it was a day visit. Leaving Hallow Hall had been painful for a different reason, and since, he had only lived in a string of hostels, motels, and hotels. No real homes, nothing he’d cared about leaving. He hadn’t expected it to hurt the way it did, a deep ache starting in his chest and up through his throat as if he was, ridiculously, going to cry. He wasn’t, of course, but the feeling was suspiciously similar.

Erik could feel the link between his mind and Charles’ being pulled thinner and thinner as he drove. There hadn’t been one when they had met again, but Charles had explained that links formed via connection and repeated contact with a telepath. They spoke in each other's minds daily, and as such the pathway between them was now well-worn, one that Erik could tread and utilize without any degree of telepathic ability of his own. Sometimes he could even catch Charles’ emotions without Charles having to project… but he didn’t look for that ability now, just noted the fact that he could feel the thread thinning. He had driven for two hours when that thread finally snapped, when he was sure that he was alone in his own mind. He couldn’t feel Charles in the background anymore, and it left him feeling oddly hollow, like the world around him was too big.

He put the pedal to the floor, wishing he could outrun exactly how lonely it made him feel.

* * *

Delaney Durante lived in a penthouse in New York. It was ridiculously opulent even in the lobby, and Erik waited in the elevator with a mixture of distaste and anticipation. It was better, he had decided, to get this over with on the first day, so he could spend the rest of the time legitimately doing PTSD research and working on meditation and the like, getting back the confidence he had lost when that song had started and he had been catapulted into the past.

He wondered again if Charles would realize what he had done when he heard about Delaney’s death, if Charles would forgive him as easily for this murder as he had forgiven Erik’s past hits. He would forgive him in the end, Erik decided. Charles struggled to hold a grudge against anyone. He wanted to believe in the good of humanity too much, wanted to believe in the good of _Erik_ too much. He wouldn’t hold this against him for very long, if he did at all.

Erik glanced at his reflection, standing there in the polished doors of the elevator. He looked like shit, to be completely honest. Was it his imagination that he looked more haggard already, more angry, more hard? Surely it was. He’d only been gone from the house for nine hours, there was no way it would be affecting him already if being gone even affected him at all.

Which of course it didn’t, he lied to himself, even knowing it was a lie.

The doors opened and left him staring at a door instead. The metal in the locks hummed softly to him as he flicked a finger, forcing it to turn and allow him entrance into the penthouse. He prowled inside, glancing around carefully. He could hear Delaney in the kitchen, arguing with someone on his phone. Erik shut the door quietly behind him and prowled forward, keeping his footfalls silent as he crossed the room, sparing a brief glance at the photographs that hung on the wall.

His eyes somehow, as they always did, found Charles. He was easy enough to find, his wheelchair setting him apart from the others in the photo. Charles was thinner by far in the picture than Erik had ever seen him, his cheeks gaunt. He was offering a polite, blank sort of smile below hollow blue eyes, his hands resting in his lap. A tall man with broad shoulders and a thin-lipped grin was standing behind him with one hand on his shoulder and his other hand on another boy’s shoulder, this one looking slightly older than Charles and with the same thin lips. Delaney, just barely older than both boys, was smiling along with an older man that resembled him.

Erik studied the picture with a slight frown, searching for some meaning behind its presence in the apartment. They had been teenagers in this photograph. It hardly looked like a positive memory-- or maybe that was just because he couldn’t help but focus on how much of a shell Charles looked like, a faint shadow of who he was now. He glanced around and didn’t find any other images of Charles, all the remaining photographs of Delaney with friends or family, the man who resembled him in enough photos that he was obviously Delaney's father. The other two who were in the photo weren’t there either, meaning that they were connected in some way with Charles.

“--because I’m _not,_ that’s why! Call me when you get it, or I don’t want to hear from you again!” Delaney snapped the words from the kitchen and there was a small crash, metal moving through the air. He’d thrown his phone, Erik decided after a moment, standing alone in the darkness of Delaney’s living room as his three small metal spheres circled him in constant orbit. Good. That meant it was away from him. Erik stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, examining his back. “Delaney,” he said calmly, and the man stiffened, then turned.

“Who the hell are you?” he snapped, masking the undercurrent of fear well. “How the fuck did you get in my house?”

“It wasn’t exactly difficult.” Erik flicked a hand and silverware shot from their drawer, winding around the man and locking him in place, a knife resting against his throat. “Let’s take a tour, shall we?” Moving a hand, Erik stepped back into the living room and sat Delaney in front of the photo of him and Charles. “Tell me about this picture.” He tapped it with the end of a spoon.

“What about it?” He looked between Erik and the picture rapidly, alarmed, then paused. “Wait, that’s right. You’re that weird guy from the gala, the one who came to talk to Charles. And then…” His eyebrows drew together. He gave his head a small shake. “I don’t understand--” He tilted his head away from the knife slightly, flinching.

“I didn’t ask you to tell me things I already know.” Internally, Erik was slightly amused and made a mental note to tell Charles that he was _that weird guy_ to Charles’ highbrow friends. “Tell me about the people in it. When was it taken? Why was it taken? What is your relationship to Mr. Xavier and the others in the photo?”

“The Markos.” He swallowed. “Charles’ stepdad and stepbrother. Kurt worked with my dad. Worked with Charles’ dad too, I guess. Look, I don’t know what you want, but I can pay you--”

“Stop talking.” Erik covered his mouth with a napkin holder, examining the photo. So _this_ was the asshole who had beaten Charles, who had broken his arm and god knew how much more besides. Erik memorized their faces, idly making up interesting ways they could die, then removed the napkin holder from Delaney’s mouth.

“I only want to hear answers to my questions. You supplied Charles Xavier with drugs, yes?”

“Y- well, not like heroin,” he clarified quickly. “I gave him some meds, yeah, back then.” He nodded briefly to the photo. “The guy was desperate, he was freaking out. And that was right after the Markos went missing and I wasn’t about to say no to him!”

“The Markos went missing?” Erik raised an eyebrow, then paused. Well… the only other person as protective of Charles as Erik was, would be Raven. If it were Erik with easy access to them, he would have ensured that they went missing, too. “What happened there?”

“We didn’t know for forever. Charles turned eighteen and the estate was his, he told them to get out and there was a whole scene, and then they were gone. No one’s heard from Kurt for forever, but Cain showed up in Arizona. He’s part of some football team, I guess, but he doesn’t talk to any of us anymore.” He shook his head quickly. “Look, talk to Charles about it, no one knows what happened there.”

“And you were his friend?” Erik considered the photo, the blankness in Charles’ face making his chest hurt as he processed this new information. Maybe Charles had compelled them to leave, but regardless, they were alive and had hurt Charles, so they were next on Erik’s list.

“I mean, I guess.” Delaney shrugged a little, uncomfortably. “Before he left more than when he got back, he got all weird after he got in the chair. He was always too good to try anything before, and then after he was just… freaking out all the time. The only time he chilled out was when he got high. And then after the OD, he went back to the first way.”

Erik flexed his hand and the silverware locking Delaney in position tightened painfully on him. Erik considered, walking around him. “So you were his friend. You saw he was desperate and hurt, and so you loaded him with drugs so he would be quiet and stop irritating you? Enough to overdose? Rather than taking him somewhere to get him help.”

“I spiked the last dose!” he protested, squeaking the words as he stared down at the knife against his neck. “So it’d freak him out, so he’d have a bad trip, so he’d stop! And it worked! How the hell was I supposed to know he’d take so much?!”

Erik stilled, staring at him. He had been considering, vaguely, maiming him severely and allowing fate to decide his life expectancy. Wanting to be better, be the person that Charles saw in him somehow. But Delaney had just written his own death warrant. “You did what?” Erik asked, looking at the man before him, his voice deadly quiet. “You did _what,_ exactly?”

Delaney went white. “I- I- it wasn’t, I just--”

“You saw a traumatized, injured boy.” Erik slammed him against the wall with a flick of his hand, accentuating every other word with another hit. “A traumatized and injured boy who cared about you because he cares about _everyone,_ who trusted you, your _friend._ And you gave him drugs, rather than helping. And then, rather than trying to dig him out of the grave you helped create, you _spiked his drugs and allowed him to overdose and almost die.”_ It had been a while, the very tiny part of Erik’s brain that wasn’t boiling with rage thought, since he had allowed his anger truly free reign.

“It was his choice!” He choked the words out. “I can pay you, stop!”

“As if I want your dirty goddamn money,” Erik snarled, lifting and unwound the silverware from him, using the last bit around his ankle to fling him off his penthouse balcony before the fork returned to the pile at Erik’s feet.

He hadn’t been _entirely_ wrong, Erik mused as he straightened the silverware and put it back in the drawer, not worrying about fingerprints because his gift was ideal for jobs like this, since he never touched anything. It _had_ been Charles’ choice. He had chosen to trust Delaney, and Delaney had chosen to give him drugs he shouldn’t have, and let Charles go off alone. Delaney had known it would ‘scare him.’

Well, Erik thought in amusement, it was good Delaney now knew how it felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is from "Stay, I Pray You" from the Anastasia Broadway. I saw it in person a few years back and got _chills._ Not only is it beautiful and tragic and perfectly depicts one's feelings upon leaving a place they have lived (good and bad feelings), it uses the melody from "In the Dark of the Night" which is one of the best songs from the Anastasia movie, which was my favorite movie as a child (and likely what kicked off my lifelong love affair with Russia in general, even though it was a greatly fictitious animation).  
> In other words: Go listen to that song because it's perfect and it haunts my life.
> 
> Also, every so often there will be a couple chapters that more perfectly click together and thus have chapter titles that correspond to that. This chapter has a title from that song, and the next chapter will as well.


	11. Stay, I Pray You: Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles works on handling the aftermath of Erik's departure from the mansion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Peter_Pansexual! You've given us so many comments and you're following along on both stories. You brighten our day every time you share your thoughts on the chapter's events, and we appreciate that so, so much. We're so glad you're following along and we look forward to seeing your comment every single time we post. Have a good week and we hope you enjoy the update!!

“Wait, Erik _left?”_ Raven stared at Charles in confusion and anger, and Hank frowned between her and Charles in alarm.

“But I thought…”

“He has things to take care of.” Charles shook his head, locking his shields firmly into place. He had enough of his own hurt and surprise. He didn’t want to share theirs, too. Not yet. “I told him he could go, it’s not like he just vanished.”

“He’s coming back eventually?” he asked, and Charles gave a nod.

“I think so,” he agreed. “But I don’t know when.” He suppressed the sense of loss in his mind, firmed his shields more heavily still. He didn’t want to project his feelings to the kids, or to Raven or Hank. “It’s fine. He needs space, I always knew that was a possibility. And Raven, you can hardly protest. You leave for months on end all the time,” he pointed out.

“I don’t-”

“Son of a _bitch,”_ Angel’s voice said from the doorway, and Charles glanced around at her with a sudden spike of guilt as he brushed against her mind. He hadn’t noticed her approach with his shields as thick as they were, but he could feel the undercurrent of thought in her small frame now. Betrayal, anger, hurt, confirmation of what she’d already known-- that he would abandon them sooner or later. It was deep, it was vicious, it was like a wounded wild animal.

“Angel,” he began, reaching out a hand. “Angel, he needed to-”

_All fucking adults promise the same goddamn thing. They all fucking lie. _She turned, the words snarled against Charles’ mind, the door slamming shut behind her, and Charles gripped the wheels of his chair, taking a deep breath.__

____

_Alex, Darwin. Could one of you…_ Charles didn’t know what she needed. An outlet to vent her frustrations onto? A friend just to talk to? _Could you check on Angel?_

__

_I’ve got her._ Charles could sense Alex heading toward her quickly. _Don’t worry, Professor._

__

Charles took a deep breath. He would talk to them all about it once he was done debriefing Raven and Hank, but he had to take it one step at a time. He focused on them again and Hank shook his head, clearly following the same train of thought.

__

“I’m sorry.” Raven leaned down and hugged Charles tightly. “Do you want me to hunt him down and kill him for you? I told him I would, if he made you sad, so he knows it’s coming.”

__

He laughed, the threat warm, familiar, and affectionate. “No,” he assured her. “Never.” He squeezed her for a moment, then pulled back. “I have to go talk to the kids about Erik. I explained the PTSD episode and they understood that for the most part, but him leaving is… a little different. Sean and Darwin will be fine. Alex will be a bit disappointed. But Angel’s already got so much of an abandonment complex, I don’t think she’s going to come around any time soon.” He let out a breath. “Maybe keep an eye on her the next few days, if you can? I will too, of course, but she sees you as less of an invasion since you can’t read her mind. She does have some self-destructive tendencies buried in there, and I worry.”

__

“Yes.” Raven nodded. “Do you want me to bring her in so you can talk to her separately?”

__

He hesitated. Weighed the chances that she would actually listen. “I’ll let Alex talk to her for a while longer. I’ll talk to Sean and Darwin first, and then I’ll go find her once she’s had time to settle a bit.” He squeezed Raven’s blue fingers, then released them. “Thank you for being here. You always are, when I need you.”

__

Raven smiled at him, brushing his hair back. “I’ve never seen Eisenhardt be like this about anyone. He’s steady. He’ll come home. If he doesn't, don’t worry if you can’t find him.” She kissed his hair with a wink and headed out the door, pulling Hank with her.

__

Charles watched her back vanish, leaning back slowly into his chair. It was easy, he thought wryly, to say things like that when she had only known him as a mercenary and only intermittently for a few years. He shut his eyes for a moment, focused. Cerebro had been stretching his limits for a month now, pushing him into constant growing pains.

__

If he pushed, _hard,_ he could feel Erik in his range for just the slightest of seconds, although the thread between them was razor-thin and he was too far to fully hold on to. Charles released the boundary line, allowed his range to snap back to its usual focus. _If I continue working with Cerebro, will it keep growing?_ He wondered silently, letting his head hang back. Before this month, he had only been able to feel half of New York City at one time. He could hear all of it even at this distance if he really tried now. How much further would it go?

__

It was easier to think of that than Erik’s absence, easy to bury himself in the concepts of limitations and mutations and whether strength was a static or flexible concept.

__

He knew that Erik would eventually come home. He trusted that. He also knew that he had been the one to tell Erik to go, that it was fine, that he understood Erik’s motives for leaving. He _did_ understand Erik’s motives for leaving. But Erik didn’t understand his own motives. He was chasing a ghost, hunting down excuses to run. He had been shaken by his own flashback experience and had been further shaken by being faced with his own feelings about the children and his somewhat paternal relationship to them, the way they were becoming important to him.

__

So Erik had hit the panic button, made it stop, gotten some space. It was understandable. Charles had been waiting for it to happen for a month, fully aware that someone like Erik wouldn’t be able to settle so flawlessly into their home. Erik thought that he was going away to learn to control his triggers, to manage his reactions, but deep down, somewhere therein, he had to know better. PTSD wasn’t something you could just shake off and control. Exposing himself to his triggers wouldn’t reduce their strength. It would take years of therapy (or less time with a telepath psychologist who, ethically, shouldn’t be Charles) in order to do that.

__

Erik wasn’t leaving to protect them from himself and his triggers. He was leaving to protect himself. He was leaving to breathe. And that was fine, it was understandable, it was logical, it was rational.

__

But it still stung. It still hurt, even with his blessing as Erik had walked out the door.

__

He opened his eyes, looked around at the painting that hung above the door, and focused on Zasha’s face for a moment, locking onto her eyes and letting him sink into the painted brown irises. He knew that it hadn’t been _her_ who had saved his life six years ago. It had been a hallucination and a manifestation of his own guilt, memories, and subconscious when provided with sufficient drugs to do so.

__

But save his life, she had, all the same.

__

“Keep him safe, if you can,” he requested softly of the painting, and then he turned, picking up a notebook and beginning to take notes on his latest jaunt into Cerebro. He’d almost thought, for a moment, that he’d felt Shaw’s mind when he was in the last time... but it had been gone too quickly for him to tell. He needed to look more thoroughly the next time.

__

* * *

__

Angel, predictably, didn’t care to talk to Charles when he tried to explain Erik’s ostensible motivations of leaving to find control. She was still too angry, too hurt, and it only slightly decreased as the week wore on. The others had taken it well enough, as Charles had predicted. They liked Erik, even missed Erik, but they weren’t hurt by his absence. They were used to adults coming and going from the manor. Raven, Moira, and Logan had set that pattern up ages ago, and so it barely surprised them.

__

The only surprise that Charles caught was the fact that Erik had left Charles there too, that they were separated, that maybe they _weren’t_ actually together. Darwin noted Charles’ subdued demeanor and had suggested to Alex and Sean that perhaps Erik and Charles had broken up. Alex had vehemently disagreed, and then bet them both fifty dollars that Erik was just off doing something for Raven, and would come back. He argued that Charles was just sad that Erik was gone, but the relationship was perfectly fine.

__

Sean, who had long since guessed at the nature of Charles and Logan’s friendship (although thankfully the others didn’t believe him) had declared Charles to be an eternal bachelor, suave and juggling various attractive men and women in a schedule. The other two had scoffed at that, informing him that Charles was like a penguin and would eventually choose just one person and stick to them.

__

It was appalling to listen to the thoughts and conversation about his sexuality, but at least they still liked him regardless, and it honestly wasn’t them being nasty or inappropriate- they all, at the core of it, wanted him happy with whatever he chose to do, which was… nice.

__

Erik called on the fourth day and was forced to endure a ten minute long spiel on the merits of eating tofu nuggets from Sean, who had picked up the house phone. Sean passed it to Darwin, who requested that Erik bring them back some new games when he came by. Darwin passed the phone to Alex, who asked him to try and kill someone with a chunk of tofu, if possible. Alex gave the phone back to Sean, who took it to the staircase and yelled up to Angel to offer her a chance to talk. She refused with a flurry of Spanish and Sean handed it to Charles instead, shrugging.

__

“Probably on her period,” he said wisely, and headed into the family room to play some racing game with Darwin and Alex on the console. Charles rolled his eyes and took the phone, hesitating for a moment before raising it to his ear.

__

“Hello, Erik,” he greeted him softly, setting aside the book he had been pretending to read for the last twenty minutes. He’d been too busy following along with their conversations, quietly listening to Erik’s voice through each mind as the phone was passed around. Erik had sounded very normal and calm with the kids and sounded good overall. He seemed stable, unhurt, and relatively cheerful. It gave Charles a small measure of peace along with the ache in his chest that he had long since gotten used to. “Are you now sold on the tofu lifestyle? Sean can be very persuasive. Once he swore that we wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and then swapped out all the meat in the house. We could tell the difference.” He chuckled quietly.

__

“I am sold only on meat,” Erik said with a short laugh. “That doesn’t interest me, no. Angel didn’t want to talk, hm?” He sounded… well, honestly, as if he didn’t care, but Charles suspected that was a cover.

__

“Sean claims she’s on her period. I’m going to make Raven give all the boys a two-hour lecture on female anatomy and menstrual cycles as punishment.” He wheeled over, shut the door, and returned to his desk as Erik laughed. “She’s fine. She’s just working through some things.”

__

He cast a glance over at the shelves on the wall, at their chessboard still half-completed in the middle of a game. His eyes roved over to the painting and he studied teenage-Erik’s smile. “How’s New York?” He asked, leaning back in his chair. “I can feel you just at the rim of my range, sometimes.”

__

“It’s fine.” Erik was quiet for a moment, then, “I didn’t mean to hurt any of you. I just needed to get some space, I just-” he fell silent again, and Charles could almost _feel_ him spinning his small metal spheres in his hand, breathing in and out slowly in his now-familiar meditative routine.

__

“I know.” Charles smiled a little, turning his bracelet around his wrist. “It’s not a bad thing, Erik. You’re allowed to come and go as you like, I told you that from the beginning. And the kids understand. Moira, Raven, Logan, they all visit and leave. Hank and I are the only adults who stay here full-time. You’re not doing anything wrong, my friend. You needed a break. I’m glad you’re taking one.”

__

“I didn’t want to be one of the adults who left.” Erik gave a small laugh. “I wanted to be an adult they could depend on.” He was quiet for a moment, then, “It’s very strange, not to feel your chair or your bracelet, or anything the children have. It’s strange to wake up in hotel rooms again. You wouldn’t think I’d get used to domesticity so quickly. It’s bizarre not to feel you reach out to tell me it’s time for dinner or lunch, half the time I forget. Running through the Bronx is not as enjoyable as on the grounds, either. And no one here plays chess worth a damn. Not that I’ve played, but I have seen some people playing.”

__

Charles felt himself smile, pondered this comment for a moment. “Is that so? I’m sorry. I miss having your mind nearby. Every so often you wander into range, but for the most part, you’re… away. I rather thought you’d like to run through the Bronx or Manhattan, though. All the metal in all the skyscrapers… I thought New York would be a dream for you.”

__

“ _That_ part is nice,” Erik agreed. “But as you know, I hate most people and New York is _full_ of people. Shouting, yelling, handing out little pieces of useless paper, fighting and trying to talk to you, sell you something or convert you to some religion. If everyone here was gone and it was just the skyscrapers, that would be something.”

__

“So Erik Lensherr’s dream is to be alone in post-apocalyptic New York.” Charles grinned at the ceiling. “How delightful.”

__

“I mean, not completely alone. I can’t hardly cook and I can’t play myself in chess either, so you would come. And if everyone was gone you’d have the museums all to yourself to play in, and the libraries. And just imagine what those three idiots could get up to in a vacant city. Angel and Raven could loot the stores and Hank could use the power grid of an entire city to fuel his studies. It would be beneficial to all of us, understand. It’s not me being selfish.”

__

So Erik Lensherr’s dream was to be alone, in post-apocalyptic New York, with their family. 

__

Charles shut his eyes with a smile. “I see. Well… perhaps try running in Central Park next time. Maybe there will be fewer people there, Mr. Lensherr, for your dream to be more accurate. I was always sad that you changed your last name, you know,” he admitted somewhat idly, rocking back on the wheels of his chair. “I’ve always been quite partial to it.”

__

“Well, I couldn’t go around proclaiming that I was Lensherr. That would be as good as a spotlight for Shaw. After we take care of him, I can go back to it.” Erik’s voice was easy, comfortable, and Charles’ mind flicked back to the newspaper the day before, an article about Delaney Durante, who had jumped to his death the night before from his penthouse. Charles hadn’t forgotten the thoughts he’d caught from Erik the first night- he had been hired to take Delaney out, as a hit. They were both currently in New York.

__

But it wasn’t the time to mention that. Not when he was so far away. He took a deep breath, then focused again as Erik spoke.

__

“Are the kids all actually okay with it?” He sounded skeptical. “I understand it, though, if they’re not. I’m sorry. I am coming back, I just have some things I need to do. I wanted to call and make sure everything was safe there. Is there anything _you_ want from the city? I have orders.”

__

_You._ “No.” Charles shook his head. “They’re okay, really. Angel’s struggling with it a bit, but that’s a leftover from her past. It’s not about you, necessarily.”

__

It was one of the closest things to a lie that he’d ever told Erik. Part of it was true; Angel _did_ have _stunning_ abandonment issues left over from her past. But it was also about Erik, who she had been coming to see as somewhat of a brother figure, who had understood and related to her anger. She was bitter and betrayed not because another adult had left her, but because that adult had been Erik and she had let herself care.

__

“Don’t worry about it,” Charles repeated. “Focus on you. I’ll take care of ou- the kids.” He barely caught himself. “If you see Moira around the city though, tell her I said hello?”

__

Erik snorted. “Oh, yes. We’re friends, we’ll go get coffee. Can you see if Angel will come to the phone? I actually have something I want to ask her.”

__

_Angel? Erik has a question for you._ Charles glanced around, locating her mind on one of the upper floors.

__

_Tell him to kiss my ass._

_Angel._ Charles pursed his lips and there was angry silence for a while, and then he sensed her moving. “She’s coming down, give us a minute.” He hesitated, watching the light shimmer on the links of his bracelet. “I thought I might bring them into the city next week, if you’re still out there. Maybe to see a movie or something.”

“Really?” Erik’s voice brightened a little, subtly enough that someone who didn’t know him as well as Charles probably wouldn’t have noticed. “I should be done with everything by early next week. If you want, I can come back with you.”

“You don’t have t-”

_“What?”_ Angel appeared in the doorway, sharp and bristling. If she were Darwin, Charles found himself thinking somewhat fondly, her skin would probably react to her emotions, spiking out like needles to keep the world at bay. She would probably like that.

“Watch your tone, Miss Salvadore. Professor Eisenhardt has a question for you.” He held out the phone and she took it, holding onto it with two fingers and holding it away from her ear slightly as if it were something filthy.

“What?” She repeated, no less hostile, and Charles pinched the bridge of his nose.

_“Hola niña bonita. ¿Quieres lunetas o churros del pueblo de aquí abajo? Solo puedo empacar uno.”_ Spanish flowed from Erik’s tongue as easily as German, and Charles reflected affectionately that sometimes he forgot that Erik spoke a total of five languages, since he so rarely had a reason to use them.

She faltered, eyes skittering sharply away from Charles’, and he felt her try to slam shields up, not quite fast enough to bury the hurt there. “ _Nada,”_ she replied sharply, tossing the phone at Charles and heading for the doorway. Charles caught it and put it back to his ear, taking a deep breath once the door swung shut behind her.

“The answer was _lunetas,”_ he told him. Erik had found a Mexican market? Probably on purpose, specifically to find something that Angel would eat, to try and mollify her anger.

“Okay.” Erik’s voice was slightly subdued. “I’ll bring her back some. Thank you, Charles. I’ll be home soon.”

Home. Charles smiled a little, taking a deep breath. He’d never really enjoyed speaking on the phone— it was disturbing to hear someone’s voice without their thoughts and emotions underlying it for context and truth. But hearing his voice like this was still better than not hearing it at all. “Take as much time as you need, and everything here will sort itself out when it’s time. Don’t come back before you’re ready just because you feel guilty. It’ll only make you feel more trapped. Be safe, Erik. We love you dearly.”

Erik laughed a little. “I miss you guys,” he agreed quietly. “Be safe. I’ll see you soon.”

Erik ended the call and Charles turned the phone over in his hands slowly. “I miss you,” he admitted to it quietly, and then pushed clear of the desk and returned to work, his mind turning over the conversation again and again.

* * *

_This is probably a bad idea,_ Charles mused to himself, but it didn’t stop him as he situated himself in the park, studying the chessboard in front of him. It had been six days now, and he missed his anchor. It was simply a smart action, he informed himself. He’d been utilizing Cerebro heavily for the past week (studiously avoiding the temptation to find Erik’s mind) and it just made sense to be closer to his anchor for a moment or two to relieve that strain. It was natural, important. Perhaps even medically necessary. That was ignoring, of course, the fact that he had survived without him for the last seven years, five of those years in a relatively healthy mindset… But it was still healthy. He hadn’t had Cerebro before then, he pointed out, countering his own arguments.

The fact that he had lightly suggested Erik running in the park, and the fact that Erik had also mentioned a lack of decent chess-playing was… completely beside the point. He wasn’t weak. He didn’t _need_ to see Erik after only being apart for a week. It was ridiculous to think that. He just wanted to be around his anchor, and… yes, to see Erik. Fine. He missed him.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, pushing the chesspieces around the board in a quick shadow-match against himself, the movements echoing the arguing and contrary thoughts in his mind. “Absolutely ridiculous, I’m like a bloody teenager.”

It would be better if Erik didn’t come to the park, he reminded himself. If he didn’t come by, then Charles could just find his mind, confirm that he was okay, and go back home. Erik wouldn’t have to see Charles, necessarily. If he did, this could make him feel claustrophobic, could make him feel pursued. It could push him further away or extend Erik’s stay in the city.

No, Erik had said he missed him.

Charles suppressed the noise of irritation that tried to escape, muffled it by pressing his lips together. This was exactly why he hated talking on the phone without being able to hear thoughts. If he’d been talking to Erik in person, he’d _know_ if Erik wanted him to stop by New York and happen upon him. Of course, he’d be reading his thoughts and emotions, so it would be cheating, but at least he’d know what to do in this situation, if visiting would help or hurt it. _Words are the source of misunderstandings,_ indeed.

And then he felt Erik’s mind on the edge of his, running through the trees and heading toward Charles. He was listening to music, focused inward on that, but he was going to come right by.

Charles felt a moment of panic, a ridiculous notion that he should hide-- in a bush, behind a chair. Something. It was ridiculous because he was in a chair, and _couldn’t_ simply dive into a _bush._ He was tempted to laugh in the next moment as his brain kicked back into gear and he remembered that he could, in fact, hide. He could mask himself into invisibility any time he wanted, he had done it frequently enough when he lived with Kurt during that last year.

But he didn’t _want_ to hide. He pressed his lips together briefly, focused on the pieces, moved them around as he finished the shadow-match. “Like a bloody teenager,” he echoed softly.

He listened as Erik’s thoughts stuttered and scattered, caught on his movement. Charles had wondered, over the years, if Erik knew consciously how much he oriented himself in the world by the metals around him. Charles’ bracelet, probably the most familiar piece of metal Erik knew, in this unfamiliar place when he hadn’t expected it, shook him for a moment and put him on alert, concerned someone had taken it off Charles.

Charles looked up to see Erik look around, then find him. Erik blinked as he caught sight of Charles, and then his face broke into a beautiful and easy smile, relief and a pleased sort of embarrassment flashing through their bond as he jogged over. “I _did_ complain about not having any good games,” he said warmly, pulling the earbuds out of his ears. There was nothing but happiness in his mind, relief to see Charles.

“You may have mentioned it,” Charles agreed with a smile up at him. “I happened to be in the area and thought I’d just… take in the park.” He waved a hand at their surroundings, feeling warmth wash through him at the sight of Erik’s smile and the knowledge that he had done the right thing. “I can’t stay long, I told the kids I’d be back in a few hours. But how does one game sound?”

“One game sounds amazing.” Erik smiled at him, settling in the chair. “What are you doing in the city? Checking to make sure I haven’t started the apocalypse I’ve been dreaming of?” Erik grinned at him and Charles laughed, taking a drink from the to-go cup he’d gotten from the cafe down the street.

“Mm. No. However, that’s not for lack of you trying.” He set the cup aside for a moment, moved a pawn forward, then set the newspaper in front of Erik. It was turned to Delaney’s obituary, and he watched him over the rim of the cup as he took another drink.

Erik’s eyes flickered to the newspaper and back to his chess pieces, trying to keep calm, but his thought processes were struggling to suppress worry about Charles’ reaction. “Shame about that,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Are you?” Charles flicked an eyebrow, feeling a flicker of amusement at the lack of sincerity and remorse in Erik’s thoughts. “We don’t lie to each other, love.” He didn’t allow himself to pause, to panic over the instinctive slip, and continued quickly. After all, he called _many_ people love- he was British after all, and it could be classed as a normal thing. “I thought you were here to work on your control. That doesn’t look like an exercise in control, does it?” He moved another pawn carefully.

“Actually, you might be interested to know that it _did,_ in fact, require a lot of control.” Erik kept the specifics carefully buried. “It was a hit I was contracted for. In deference to you I was considering just scaring him, or… well, maiming him. But he pissed me off.” A dark look passed over his face and Erik looked up at Charles defiantly. “He was a piece of shit, Charles, who risked your life more than you know. He probably did the same to others. It was a courtesy, and it was much quicker than he probably deserved.”

“Hmm. I thought as much.” Charles sighed, setting his cup aside again, and rested his elbows on the table. “How much did Raven tell you about the overdose, then?”

Erik shook his head, surprisingly, to Charles’ mind, unconcerned about that. He didn’t seem to care about Charles’ past drug habit in the slightest- well, Charles had known some of his feelings about it from the day Sean had found an old bottle of his drug of choice, but still. “Just that it happened and you were… not well for a few days after. She didn’t go into details and I didn’t ask.”

Charles inclined his head, raising his eyebrows at him as he thought. “I suppose that’s fair enough. But, and I know it’s too late to tell you this now, you shouldn’t blame Delaney for what happened. It was my choice. And honestly, what happened that day was the best outcome I ever could have hoped for. If he _hadn’t_ cut the dilaudid with the hallucinogen, my life could have gone down a very different path.”

Erik shook his head. “But he didn’t know that would happen. It was sheer luck. He gambled with your life and it’s luck that karma waited this long to catch up.”

“You don’t get to choose to be the instrument of karma, my friend,” Charles reminded him gently, catching his wrist lightly. “He was a nineteen year-old boy who made a foolish decision. There was no malice in it. No irreparable harm was done. Because of his actions, I…” He hesitated. He’d never spoken about his hallucination to anyone. Not the doctors, not Raven, not Moira. It had been too personal, he had been too close to the edge.

“I was going to die that day, Erik.” He met his eyes and felt the shock and pain run through Erik as if it were a live charge, electricity zipping through him. “I was going to just… let it go. I wasn’t doing well, I was constantly looking for the next high. I was in intense pain every day, I was grieving tremendously, and I thought that I should just lean into the overdose. And then the hallucinogens kicked in, and I saw Zasha.”

Erik looked up at him in surprise, then smiled a little, warmth and affection replacing a little of the shock and sadness. “Was she pissed?”

“No.” Charles snorted. “I would have expected it, if I had been in any normal state of mind. I would have anticipated her being vengeful, or annoyed that she was dead. She definitely was dead. She didn’t… look quite right.” He cleared his throat, pushing the thought of the blood firmly away. “But she told me to call the hospital. She told me the same things she did when I’d first hit burnout. Wake up yourself. Don’t let him win. So I listened. I called the hospital, they took me out, and I’ve been clean since. Delaney’s actions weren’t _good,_ no. But if he hadn’t made them, I could have just died. Or I could have continued on that same path. I wouldn’t have ever gone back to school, wouldn’t ever have started _my_ school, wouldn’t ever have lived to find you. You can look at that situation and be angry with either of our choices, Erik, or you can look at it and see what a blessing it is that it all worked together so perfectly to lead me to where we are now.” He squeezed his hand. “You can look at your episode the same way. You can be angry that it happened and that it ‘endangered’ us, or you can be grateful that no one was harmed and that now you know that much more about yourself and how to prepare for the future.”

_Idealistic to the bitter end,_ Erik thought with an affectionate sort of exasperation, but considering this viewpoint cautiously anyway, and Charles laughed.

“Perhaps. But my point remains, nonetheless. Don’t kill anyone on _my_ behalf, old friend. There’s no need. I’d rather your hands stay clean. You have more good in you than that.”

“Very technically, I killed him for money,” Erik said with a small smile, focusing on Charles’ fingers. “I _did_ accept the contract, and I was obligated to complete it. My hands haven’t been clean since I was thirteen, Charles.” He laughed a little and met the telepath’s eyes. _I am sorry if his death hurt you. I’m sorry it isn’t what you wanted me to do. If he’d had some remorse, if he’d cared other than paying me off, maybe I wouldn’t have._ Erik took in a deep breath. “I'm not planning on taking more contracts. I would _like_ to be something approaching the man you think I am.”

“Erik. I have known exactly who you are since I was a boy.” Charles chuckled, moving his rook. “You don’t have to lie to me about who you are. You don’t have to pretend with me about who you are. You’re an often-ill-tempered German sod who has terrible issues with communication, impulsively acts on what he thinks is the best course of action regardless of the logic of normal people, and is deeply, desperately cynical and pessimistic. Possibly to a fault. You have also killed eighty-seven people.” He took a drink from his to-go tea. Erik may have lost count years ago, but his memories were enough proof to count from. “You’re also intelligent, kind, protective, and love more deeply than any individual I have ever been blessed enough to meet. I know exactly who you are, and I don’t want any of it to change. I just want you to embrace and acknowledge the lighter side of you as you have embraced and acknowledged the darker side. You do not only have violence as an option. You are more than that and have more choices than that.”

Erik stared at him, shock and confusion tangling up his thoughts, and he focused back on the board, pushing it all away to think about later, when he wasn’t in public. “It’s been a long time since I have had more choices,” he said quietly. They played in silence for a while, both men simply enjoying being in each other’s company again. “Thank you for coming, Charles,” Erik said after a time. “I missed you, you know. I know I’m not good about speaking what I think, so it’s good you’re a telepath, but I did miss you.”

“I missed you, too.” Charles cast a rueful glance over the chessboard, laid his king down, and offered Erik a smile. “Take as much time as you need. The kids and I will be up on Friday.” He unlocked the brakes of his wheelchair, caught and squeezed Erik’s arm, and then left, monitoring their link quietly until he was finally so far from him that it faded out again.

Friday, Charles thought with a self-deprecating sort of smile, already felt too far away.

“Just like a bloody teenager,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is again from "Stay, I Pray You" from the Anastasia Broadway.


	12. What I’ve Been Living For: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's SO MUCH PLOT here it's nuts. 
> 
> Erik comes home, he and Charles _finally_ have a talk about their relationship, and then things take a distinct downward turn as someone finally steps out of the shadows.
> 
> Lemon alert-- if you want to avoid Clarke's wonderfully smutty contribution, skim past the italics dream sequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter because there's just SO MUCH PLOT. There's going to be plot in about every chapter moving forward now, as all our chess pieces are in their places and it's time for the endgame to commence. Wish us luck, darlings!

It was very odd for Erik to be without the house he had gotten so used to. For a month, he had been surrounded by six other people, by constant noise and warmth and laughter. The silence was disconcerting now that it was the absence of sounds rather than the presence of quiet.

He didn’t like it. After all that time considering how nice a little bit of quiet would be, he found now that he didn’t like the quiet after all. It wasn’t nearly as calming or peaceful as he had found it, before spending so many weeks with the children.

Being without Charles was the strangest part. He was in New York City, which was, by far, far enough from Charles that he couldn’t feel his wheelchair or bracelet. There were no late-night chess games, no drinks, no arguments about the state of mutant rights or current affairs. He had been so happy to see Charles appear like magic at the chess table, smiling at him as if Erik was something important to have around, as if he missed him, regardless of the mess Erik had made.

Charles knew his number of kills. Erik stared at the ceiling, trying to decide how he felt about that. In some ways, it was a relief- he never had to worry about having to tell Charles, of having to see the judgement in his face. Erik never had to speak the number out loud, which was definitely a relief. But… even after all that, Charles didn’t care. Charles wanted him around anyway. That was so confusing and out of the blue, something Erik would have never considered, would never have _thought_ that Charles would know. But he did. And he forgave Erik for it, understood that the majority of it had been under Shaw, and then the rest had been directed hits, mostly chosen by Charles’ own sister.

His mind wandered to Delaney and the information he had gotten about the Markos, eyes narrowing at the innocent drywall above him. Yes, he was going to have to do something about the latter, at some point. They had hurt Charles, and Erik wasn’t going to allow anyone who did that to go free.

His thoughts turned back to the calmer tone, of his charges in the mansion. He had expected to miss Charles. He’d known he would. He _hadn’t_ expected to miss the kids. Sean wasn’t around to interrogate him on the plausibility of killing a man with one thumb, Darwin and Alex weren’t arguing about school work or video games, Angel wasn’t blasting music on her headphones so loudly that she may as well have been playing the radio. Hank wasn’t babbling to a bored Raven about his designs, and she wasn’t making flirtatious advances that Hank didn’t notice. They were all probably doing all of these things, but they weren’t doing them near him, and it was surprisingly upsetting to think about.

And that was absolutely terrifying. He was comfortable loving Charles, was comfortable missing him and needing him. Erik was perfectly used to that part of his life. He was not used to caring about anyone else anymore. He wasn’t used to missing insane children, but he found that the idea that Angel was hurting because he’d left her, or that Alex and Sean and Darwin could hurt themselves upstairs and not get downstairs to Charles, or a million other things, bothered him more than he should say.

Erik wanted to go home. He had completed the Delaney job early in the week, and now he was just spending a lot of the day mediating and doing research on PTSD, trying desperately to get some kind of plan in place for when he came back, for if something like that happened again. He didn’t want to risk the children- _their_ children. He had heard Charles almost say _our children_ again, and if the litany of concern about their well-being was anything to go by, he was beginning to take responsibility for the children and their lives and happiness.

Later in the week, he assured himself, and rolled over to sleep, trying to put the thoughts behind him.

* * *

_“A drink?” The bartender glanced briefly at Erik, already retrieving a glass. “What are you feeling tonight?”_

_“Whatever you have that’s closest to paint thinner.” Erik stared at the bottles. He had learned a long time ago that it wasn't a smart idea to ask for anything_ strong. _That ended up with nothing good happening. Ask for the shittiest alcohol and you got the strongest well alcohol they had, usually._

_“Seconded.” A low, beautiful voice from beside him, the hair on his arms raising immediately as he turned his head. Charles was standing there, giving the bartender a charming smile and a twenty. “You can keep the change,” he offered smoothly, then glanced at Erik. “Another dream, then. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”_

_Erik blinked at him, then smiled, relaxing. “Thank you for paying. I was planning on intimidating my way out of a tab.”_

_His smile was bright and brilliant, perfect white teeth against a freckled face. “I’ve no doubt about that,” he mused, taking the glass from the bartender and offering it to Erik on his palm. His bracelet shimmered in the lamplight. “It’s strange, how real these always feel. Like you’re in my world. Or maybe like I’m in yours.” He reached out, a hand skimming lightly down Erik’s arm, tracing the tattoo there with his fingertip._

_Erik smiled, wrapping an arm around Charles’ waist and kissing his ear. “It’s nice to feel real,” he murmured, inhaling the warm tea and book smell Charles always carried with him. English Breakfast, the only tea he’d allow. “You always smell so damn good. I missed you.”_

_“I’ve missed you.” His breath was unsteady as he rested their foreheads together, his fingers catching Erik’s shoulders. “What’s it like, where you are? Is it… nice? Life and death must be so different.”_

_“It’s lonely.” Erik gave a little laugh, shaking his head. This never stopped hurting, never stopped him aching and wishing against everything that this could be real. “I was never really lonely before you. I wasn’t ever happy, but I wasn’t lonely. And then you show up and flip everything inside-out and now I just miss you all the time.” Erik pulled Charles against him, still seated on the stool so he was low enough to bury his face in the little space between Charles’ neck and shoulder. “So without you, I’m mostly just lonely.”_

_Charles made a low noise, one hand raising and stroking through Erik’s hair, down the back of his neck gently. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, then, “You wouldn’t want me like I am now. Could you want me here?” His fingers skimmed across Erik’s shoulders, down his arms. “It’s a dream, would it be so wrong to pretend for just a minute? For just a dream?”_

_“Charles.” Erik pulled back, looking up at him with a frown. “I always want you. You never have to ask. There is nothing you could ever do or be that would make me not want you, as long as you were still you.”_

_Charles laughed, then smiled, a crooked, warm, slightly self-destructive look. “Yeah, like that,” he agreed, but then his lips were on Erik’s, his fingers winding through Erik’s hair. Erik sat up, hugging Charles against him, and kissed him back hard, savoring the sensations that flashed through him like lightning. Charles made a low sound, one that had been burned into Erik’s memory years ago, and pulled him closer, his fingers digging into Erik’s arms and shoulders as he kissed him back fervently._

_“Erik,” he breathed between kisses, and Erik pressed him back against the bar, his hands curling tightly around Charles’ wrists and pinning them to the countertop as he kissed down his throat. The bartender and the other patrons were gone, turned to smoke, never real in the first place, and Charles gave a low whine, shuddering as Erik bit his neck. “Erik-“_

_“I’ve missed you so much,” Erik growled, lifting him and resting him on the bar so he could have a better angle to grind their hips together and pull off his shirt, kissing his skin, every bit of skin that he could. Charles’ legs hooked around Erik’s waist and he leaned forward, pushing Erik’s shirt off._

_“I want you,” Charles was almost begging, and Erik yanked him off the bar and stood him back against a table instead, the surface lower than the bar, so he could get a better angle. Erik reached down, pushing Charles’ trousers down with unsteady fingers as Charles unbuttoned Erik’s jeans and yanked them down, wrapping his hand around Erik’s erection._

_It felt so good, so natural and perfect and normal, to be with Charles. Erik snaked his fingers into Charles’ briefs and smiled, feeling how hot and full and heavy Charles was already. “You are so perfect,” Erik hissed into his ear, stroking his length up and down, Charles doing the same to him. They were keeping almost the same pace, and Charles let out a little whimper, eyes hazing out and head falling back slightly._

_Charles was always so focused, so brilliantly intent on the things he wanted and what he was working on or learning, so seeing him let go like this, seeing that Erik could make him let go and feel this good, his moans and gasps filling the small room around them, had always made Erik feel like he could walk on fucking air._

_Erik pulled away, turning Charles around and pushing him down to the table, kissing a line down his back and pulling the bottle of lube out of his pocket where it always was in these dreams, applying it to his fingers and sliding one of them in. Charles moaned, his head falling forward, and Erik laughed breathlessly, moving Charles’ legs apart and resting his palm in the small of Charles’ pale, freckled back. “You want this?” He pressed his hips against his lover’s, not entering him just yet, but still moving his fingers inside. “Tell me you want me like this.”_

_“Yes.” Charles’ voice caught and he gripped the table as Erik’s fingers picked up the pace inside him. “God, Erik, yes!”_

_Erik pushed into him, keeping one hand on his back and holding the table with the other, not wanting to send the table- and Charles- flying. As he slid home, groaning at the perfect way that Charles felt around him, Charles moaned, back arching beautifully. Erik pulled out almost all the way and pushed back in to the hilt, over and over, moving faster with each flex of his hips, and Charles whimpered and cried out, strangled versions of Erik’s name. Erik loved the sounds he made, loved how vocal Charles was when they did this. He’d always worried that someone would hear, back at Hallow Hall, but there was no one here to hear now, so he could just enjoy them._

_“You feel so good,” Erik breathed, grabbing Charles’ shoulder and pulling him up so Charles’ back was mostly pressed back against Erik’s chest as he continued to move, Charles gasping as the angle shifted. Sex was a little more difficult in this position, but it was worth it because now Erik could bite his ear and elicit that little whimper he loved so much as he moved. “I love you,” Erik whispered into Charles’ skin, burying his face in Charles’ neck and biting a little, trying to draw out the building sensations of pleasure and bliss even more. He’d never been able to say the words, when Charles was alive, and he had always regretted it._

_Charles’ fingers dug into Erik’s arms, his face angling back towards Erik’s for a kiss. “I love-”_

Erik’s eyes snapped open, the hoarse, heady voice’s words broken by the return of reality. He was focusing up on a dark ceiling as chaos and want rampaged through his bloodstream, trying to disentangle himself from the need of the dream and the intensity of the moment. A dream of a dream, he realized slowly, trying to catch his breath when he realized that said dream was oddly short. It had just been a dream, a memory of a dream if anything, he’d first had it years ago. He could remember it, could remember waking angry and heartbroken in his hotel room in England.

He experienced a second moment of true surrealism, finding himself adrift as he stared up at the hotel ceiling. Had it _all_ been a dream? Charles, the mansion, the kids... suddenly in the darkness of this foreign place, it seemed all too likely that it had all been some elaborate and complex dreamscape rather than reality. He couldn’t reach out and reassure himself with the usual hum of Charles’ bracelet, could only sit and grit his teeth as his blood boiled through his veins and he forced himself to decide that it hadn’t been a dreamscape, that the children were there, somewhere, sleeping probably as Charles read in his study, their chess game still unfinished.

No, it hadn’t _all_ been a dream. There was no way. He counted details, tiny pieces of the mansion, interactions, small facts and trivia about his last month until the tight hand around his lungs began to lax. Not a dream, not all of it. Just the bar. He still had a home to go back to in the north of the state.

He found himself thinking with black amusement that it was lucky he _hadn’t_ been at the mansion. It would have been desperately awkward if Charles had caught the edges of that dream, considering that they still hadn’t had a conversation about their relationship or lack thereof. Erik rubbed his forehead, grimly thankful that he wasn’t in the mansion, because Charles _could_ catch the dream, because--

Because he was a telepath.

Erik’s mind spun and sped, tracking back quickly as he sat up. Charles _could_ see dreams, he’d woken Erik from a nightmare back in Hallow Hall. Sometimes, he could hear other people’s dreams, which made sense; they were in your mind, and Charles was a telepath and could see _everything_ that went on in people’s minds. 

Could he actually enter the dreams of others, not just see them? Could he control that, have power over his own actions in dreams, or were they more just manifestations of his unconscious? Erik had first had the dream of the bar when he had gone to Oxford for the professor contract nearly three years ago. He’d been so shaken by the vivid imagery and the detail, the want of it all, that he hadn’t returned to London for over a year, convinced it had been the location that had triggered the dream. He hadn’t been able to be anywhere near there, anywhere near the place that would bring back such painful and beautiful memories.

Had Charles still been in London three years ago?

His mind continued, tracing the other, equally-vivid dreams he’d had of Charles over the years. One in Chicago seven months ago, one in New York a year ago, one in Scotland two years ago… and there had been several others scattered throughout the seven years, sometimes only fragments, sometimes fully sensory and vibrant. Had Charles been in any of those locations? Had they been more than dreams?

_What’s it like where you are?_

_Life and death must be so different._

The other dreams had held similar comments. Erik had always taken them from his own perspective, as Charles visiting him from the afterlife and knowing it was a visit and not a true dream, Erik’s own subconscious not cruel enough to truly trick him into thinking he had him back, but if Charles hadn’t known either, if he had thought that _he_ was dreaming of _Erik_ who had been dead...

Charles was a shockingly-strong telepath who reached out to Erik, who had always reached out to Erik in particularly vulnerable times. Erik was Charles’ anchor, it was part of the deal. When he was asleep, just waking up, overwhelmed, in pain... Had Charles unconsciously reached out and found Erik during the years they’d been apart, shared dreams, desperate to be near each other again and able to be so in a way, when they were in range of Charles’ ability?

The dreams had always felt viciously, heartbreakingly real. Erik had always remembered them in near-perfect detail, which he had alternatively loathed and loved upon waking. It had made it that much harder to forget Charles, to move on. Then again, he hadn’t particularly _wanted_ to forget Charles or move on. He had loved every moment of them, but when he inevitably woke up alone and with the memory of Charles screaming on the table and Shaw’s voice, _he was put down this morning,_ Erik on occasion broke everything in his room, channeling his anger and pain into destruction.

If it had been real, it was almost a guarantee that Charles hadn’t known what he was doing, that he was entering Erik’s mind. He would have come and found Erik if he had, just like Erik would have come and found Charles, if he’d known that the other man was alive.

Erik considered this with a small smile. He could ask, in theory. Maybe whatever part of Charles wanted Erik was there in his conscious brain as well. Then he frowned a little as part of the dream returned to him, a part he hadn’t really paid much attention to before. _You wouldn’t want me like I am._ If it had been even slightly real, had Charles actually thought that Erik wouldn’t want him? Because of the chair? Because of the drug abuse? Charles had also been concerned, initially, that Erik would have a problem with the fact that he was a teacher at a boarding-esque school and had actual responsibilities.

As if Erik could or would care about anything other than the fact that he was still the same person in all the ways that mattered.

There was the smallest, dimmest brush against his mind and Erik stilled at Charles’ clumsy, sleepy query. They were miles apart, over a hundred miles apart, but Charles himself had admitted that Erik was on the edge of his range at times. It had been normal back at the mansion--Charles reached out almost every morning for the past month, giving slight and fumbling brushes against Erik’s mind as he woke up and sought him out. It was always just a slight touch, either to assure him that Erik was well or still there, and then he’d retreat. It was such a tiny and sleepy gesture that Erik wasn’t even fully sure Charles knew he did it. Every time he did, it made Erik’s chest ache and warm as he considered just what that meant, that Charles’ first instinct the moment he was conscious at all, was to reach out to Erik. It was unusual for Charles to reach out at _this_ time of night, and at this distance, but he was reaching out nonetheless, sleepy and uncoordinated as he checked that Erik was well.

Erik tried to portray calm, tried to push down just how vivid the dream had been, how unbelievably good it had felt to hold Charles, kiss Charles, fuck Charles. His skin felt hot and tight and he took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts away and trying fiercely to ignore his erection as Charles offered a vague, tired sort of happiness and then retreated from the edges of his mind again. 

Erik didn’t know where they stood _now,_ in real life. They needed to have a conversation about what Charles wanted at some point, but… it needed to be in person, and once Erik knew what to do about his apparent control issues. He wanted him desperately, as desperately as he ever had, but they needed to talk things over.

Erik was done with waiting. He had done research, had finished the job, and he was done waiting. He missed Charles, and he missed the children. He would go home and then he would figure out what, exactly, this relationship was. He would make amends with Angel and settle back into their lives together. He was far from cured of his problems, but he had a bit more of an idea, after attending meetings and reading some books, how to handle it.

Because Charles reaching out like this had to mean something, and it was enough that Erik should fight for it instead of running away.

* * *

“Professor Eisenhardt!” Sean greeted him from one of the balconies as he parked and got out of the car. Sean was in the process of hoisting a giant pot onto the railing. “You’re back!”

“Put that back,” Erik demanded, crossing his arms. “ _Now._ And hello, Sean.”

“It’s not for you,” he assured him quickly. “It’s jello. Alex blew up my record player, so I’m going to pour this on him when he comes out. It’s fine.”

Erik’s lips quirked, and he stepped to the side as Alex’s voice rang out. “-you’re gonna _love_ it, Ang, it’s this big market and there’s all this food, and-”

Erik shifted the metal awning next to the door just in time to shield Angel from the rain of Jello, but Alex didn’t move in time. Green jello rained down onto his head and shoulders, splattering and exploding, soaking into his shirt and hair, and Sean let out a vicious cackle, whooping as Alex froze in place, mouth open still as he was halfway between explanation and a yell. Angel covered her mouth with her hands, staring at him with something caught between delight and horror.

Alex looked up, then yelled something and launched himself back upstairs, spraying Jello everywhere. Sean screamed and darted back inside to escape, though jumping off the roof and into the nearest tree would have clearly been the better strategic decision. Erik looked at Angel, whose amusement faded as she looked back at him.

“ _Hola, nina,”_ he said, holding out a grocery bag. “ _Tamales, churros,_ and _lunetas. The tamales_ are fresh. Charles said you missed them.”

“You can tell him to stay out of my head.” She crossed her arms, expression closed-off. “Why’re you back? What do you want? The professor is busy.”

“That’s fine.” Erik looked at the hurt girl in front of him who was trying so hard not to be hurt. He hated being vulnerable, hated talking about feelings and emotions. It had always gotten him hurt or made things worse… but she needed something. Erik shrugged a little as yelling erupted from upstairs, Alex no doubt having caught Sean. “I’m back because I want to come home. I wanted to ask you guys if that was okay.” He gave a small, uncertain smile. “I missed you. Life is too quiet without those idiots, and without you pushing my buttons.”

“It didn’t matter what we wanted when you left,” she pointed out fairly, tattooed shoulders hunching in very slightly as if to make herself a smaller target. “You’re all the same. You’ll come back now, say you missed us, say you’re going to stay, and then here in a month or two you’ll find some new excuse to hit the road. Just like my dad, just like Aron, just like all the rest. At least Logan’s upfront about the fact that he’s only ever passing through to pat our heads and fuck the professor. At least he doesn’t pretend and fake that he gives a shit.”

“Angel, I left because I didn’t want to hurt you guys.” Erik watched her carefully, trying _very_ hard not to think too hard about the Logan comment. He needed to focus on her at the moment, not Logan and the fact that he could rip out and separate every bone of his metal skeleton. “I could have killed you all, so easily. It wouldn’t have taken a moment. You know something of what I did in the past. You know that violence is where I go when I’m in a stressful situation. I lost it with you children in the room, and I could have killed you. I needed some time to figure out what I need to work on, to breathe. Sometimes, I’ll need to leave and take a breath.” He moved forward, gently ruffling her hair. “But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t miss you. I did. A good guardian puts the needs of his charges before his. I wanted to stay, but I needed to protect you guys, and that’s what I did.”

“Is it? Or did you just run away?” Her eyes met his, dark and angry, full of challenge. “You know, my dad fought overseas. Came back to our shithole trailer and wasn’t right afterwards. Sometimes I’d drop a bottle or something and he’d start freaking out the same way you did. Thought he was back there.” She gave a short laugh. “It’s not something you just… take a walk away from and are fine. It’s not something you figure out, it’s something you have and deal with, or go to therapy for. Or give up from.” Her eyes dropped then, avoiding Erik’s. “I told you before, if you’re going to end up abandoning us, you should just go, you shouldn’t pretend—“ she stopped, held up a hand. “It doesn’t even matter. Do whatever you’re going to do.” She pulled away, snatching the bag out of his hand and storming inside.

“Angel.” He caught the strap of the bag long enough to stop her, searching her face. “I never intended on leaving you, any of you, for good. I agree, it’s not something you can just get over. I’ll… go to therapy. I’ll work through it. I’ll take long walks. I promised you I wouldn’t just disappear on you, and I tried not to, but I understand how it felt. I’m sorry. You’re right, I did run away. It scared me.” Erik shook his head, not meeting her eyes for a moment. “I haven’t had people I actually cared to protect in a long time. Me being the thing that directly threatened your safety was terrifying. I’m sorry, Angel. I swear to you that it won’t happen again.” He focused on her. “If I need to go and take a breath, I will come tell you. I’m going to get therapy, I’ll drink tea or whatever I have to. I want to stay.”

She searched his face, the tension and hostility in hers faltering, and then she pulled back slowly, holding the bag a little closer. “Thanks for the _lunetas,”_ she said shortly, turning away. “Professor Xavier is in his office.”

Erik watched her go, smiling a little. She wasn’t completely happy, not really, but… things were better, now. She was a little less angry, and when she realized that he was serious, that he wasn’t leaving completely again, she would relax.

But for now, Erik pushed it away. He wanted to see Charles again, and he had something to talk to him about.

The hum of Charles’ bracelet was desperately soothing as he stepped into the mansion. There was also the hum of his chair, the soft vibrations from game systems, skateboards, silverware, various items and infrastructure that had come to portray and represent a sense of _home_ when all put together. It was deeply comforting. He crossed to the study, opening the door and preparing to knock on the doorframe, then leaned against it with a warm smile.

Charles was slumped forward, asleep on the desk with one one braceleted hand tucked under his cheek. The links of his bracelet were leaving patterns on his skin and he was smiling slightly in unconsciousness. There were a few plates of uneaten food here and there across the room, tea mugs half-drunk and scattered on nearly every surface. He had fallen asleep on what looked like a map, ink stains smeared across his fingers and cheek.

Erik moved forward, leaning across the desk, and stroked Charles’ hair back. “Hey,” he said warmly, quietly. “Charles.”

He lifted his head sleepily, peering up at him, and then gave a bleary sort of smile. “Erik, you’re home.” He raised a hand, scrubbing clumsily at his eyes. “I thought… the movie on Friday?”

“I wanted to come home.” He smiled. “We can go back out later, if you want to see it.” Erik laughed, sitting in the chair he’d come to think of as _his._ “I missed you guys. I decided hell with it, and came back.”

Warmth and delight against his mind. “I’m glad. Sorry, I…” He looked around, bemused at the mess that surrounded them, and felt around. “I might have tea…” He picked up a teapot, felt the side to see if it was warm.

“Charles, it’s fine.” Erik laughed, relaxing back into the chair. “I don’t need tea. Thank you, though. How have you been?”

“Fine, fine.” He waved a hand, pushing his hair out of his face, and Erik felt a very slight frown start on his lips. Was it just sleep that had Charles looking so much more scattered than usual? “We’ve been working with Cerebro. I got Moira a fair list that she’d looked for, and she headed back to Virginia yesterday. She said she’ll email me the lists moving forward… apparently she has a case of some sort. The kids have been well. They’ve all gotten their homework done and are on a bit of a break now.”

“That’s good,” Erik agreed, watching him carefully, interestedly. He did seem slightly strange, very slightly off. “I’m glad that things are going well with Cerebro. Have you been using it a lot? Has Hank been getting good data?”

“He has.” Charles focused on him and gave him a warm smile, which, although lovely, illustrated the dark circles that were beginning to form. He looked like he’d lost some weight, too, which made sense, considering the uneaten plates laying around. “We’ve gone through an entire missing persons list. Of course, some of them may be out-of-country and some may be dead, but I’ve gotten rather good at locating based on a face or name. Because a name is so ingrained in your identity, your mind holds it there. Even if you’ve forgotten it, I suspect, almost like a tattoo. It’s likely one of the reasons that Shaw and Emma stripped us of ours.” His hands moved as he spoke, gesticulating with swirls of long fingers. “You can’t disengage yourself from your name. Anyways, Hank expanded the range. I can now reach both Americas and I think I’ll be able to cover Europe as well before too long, he’s working on the calibration right now…” He blinked, shook himself slightly. “Forgive me, I’m babbling. How was New York? Was it helpful?” He searched his face. “You’re back, so I assume it was at least in part, but…”

“I like your babbling.” Erik smiled at him a little, then continued, slightly unsettled by the lack of food having been eaten, the dark circles, the shakiness and the wandering speech. “New York was helpful, yes. I looked up information about the kind of episode I had, worked on some meditation techniques. Grounded myself with metal. I actually went to a few groups of people with similar problems and listened to them talk, asked them how they coped. It helped. I promised Angel that I would get into therapy.” He laughed a little.

“That would probably be helpful.” Charles looked up at him sincerely, reaching out and catching his wrist. “There’s no harm in that. I know a lovely telepath psychologist who is very talented… or I know some normal psychologists, too. Raven and Moira bullied me into a gamut of them once I got back.” He took a teacup at random, took a drink, blanched slightly at the taste of the cold liquid. “They do help, if you give them the time and opportunity,” he added, setting the teacup aside with a grimace. “But it’s certainly not a quick fix. Telepath psychologists are more effective than most, but I found it a struggle, since I’m also a telepath and could follow their progress…” He glanced around, ostensibly for a different teacup.

“Well, at least a telepath would know to keep their mouth shut.” It was instinctive with most telepaths, since they were used to not speaking thoughts aloud. And that might help when Erik struggled to express himself- the therapist could pluck the answer out of his mind. “I guess I could try that. You know some decent ones?”

“Mm.” He had apparently found a more tolerably warm cup and took a drink from it. “I’ll give her a ring and let her know that you’d like to see her.” He set the cup aside, studied his face, hesitated. “Are you… is it nice to be back? Is there anything I can do to help you get settled again? I know you were only gone a week or so, of course, I just…” He shrugged a little, clearing his throat and picking a pawn off the chessboard. He turned it over in his fingers. _I just want to help if I can._

_You help by being around._ Erik smiled at him. “Would you like to play a game? We haven’t, for a while.”

“We were halfway between one,” Charles agreed with a small smile, placing the pawn back where it had been quickly. He picked up the board carefully, set it between them, and motioned to Erik. “It was your move.”

“Unless you shifted your pieces again,” Erik said with a smile, considering. They had actually had the children come in and do it, on occasion, and had agreed that whatever the board looked like when they came back, that was how they’d play the game.

“It was absolutely not me,” Charles informed him, scandalized. “Make your move, you fiend.”

Erik laughed and considered the board, then moved his bishop, eyeing Charles’ queen. He liked to use the queen as a feint, to then destroy Erik’s pieces with his knights. They settled into a comfortable silence and Erik spoke after a while, when they were both more relaxed. “Out of curiosity, Charles, where have you travelled since we first parted? Just America and Britain?”

“Primarily,” he agreed absently, frowning over his own move and tracing his fingernails over his lips. “I went to Scotland once with Moira to help her on a case, and Germany once just to see where you grew up. I didn’t leave America or Europe overall, though.” He moved a second pawn.

Erik kept his eyes mostly on the pieces. “When you went to Scotland, was it two years ago? Roughly?”

Charles blinked, looked up at him. “Yes. How’d you know?”

Erik drummed his fingers on the table, considering exactly how to word it, then, “I used to dream about you. Not a lot, not all the time, but I’d dream about finding you in a bar, or we’d be playing chess in the park, or you’d find me in a museum.” Erik’s gaze flicked up to Charles’ face. “You always seemed… very _aware,_ for a figment of my imagination, that it was a dream.”

Charles froze, the pawn in his hand dropping to the chessboard. “What?” He stared at him, cerulean eyes shocked and slightly horrified.

Of all the reactions Erik had been prepared for, _horror_ was not one of them. “I was in Scotland two years ago,” Erik continued, playing with the pawn he’d lifted off the board. “In the northern coastline, up and down, during the fall. I was hunting someone specific. And then, a few years after we were separated, I-” he hesitated. If Charles had been in school at Oxford at the time, he may have taken the death hard. Erik hadn’t thought about that until he had said it, but it was true- he may have liked Leigis. “-may have known about a professor being killed, in Oxford. I have it on very good authority that he was a horrible person. But it occurred to me that if I’m your anchor, maybe you were looking for me, and… maybe you found me, when we were geographically close.”

“But dreams are… that’s not fully consent, that’s like being drunk, it’s a fantasy, people choose things then that they wouldn’t in real life.” Panic was replacing the horror. “I didn’t know-”

Erik stared at him for a moment, shock racing through him. Was he upset thinking that he, Charles, would not have wanted to have things the way they did, or was he upset thinking that _Erik_ wouldn’t have made the decisions that he had made? “Whose consent are you worried about?”

“ _Whose?”_ Charles stared at him, eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, Erik, they were _my_ dreams! _Your_ consent, you daft wanker!”

“Charles Xavier.” Erik raised an eyebrow at him, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward on them slightly. “I have wanted to fuck you since the first moment I saw you walk into the dayroom. Why the hell do you think I’d feel any different now?”

Charles took in a small breath, eyes locked on Erik’s, and then they broke away, one hand curling around his arm, the other gripping his thigh. “It’s not… It wasn’t real, you didn’t know what you were doing. I’m not the same person I was back then. Physically or mentally.”

Erik rested his fingers on Charles’ sleeve gently. “I didn’t know it was real,” he agreed quietly, not looking away from the telepath’s face. He had rarely needed to say anything so important, and he needed to get it right. “But I don’t care. I didn’t know it was really you that I was with, I thought it was my subconscious being far too kind to me. But if I had understood that it was real, I would have spent the whole time interrogating you so I could find you and do those things for real. Do you think I care about your chair, or the things you did to recover after we lost each other? Do you honestly think that would change the way I feel about you?”

“You might not, not yet, but that doesn’t mean that you _won’t.”_ Charles’ shoulders tensed. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to look at Erik. “You-”

“What, I’m going to suddenly realize that you’re in a wheelchair?” Erik raised an eyebrow. “In the middle of sex I’m going to say _oh wait, you’re paralyzed!_ You don’t think that I have thought about it? Charles, for god’s sake, I’ve been looking up ways to sleep with you. I want to make sure you’re comfortable and you get whatever you can out of whatever we do together. There’s no reason we can’t have a perfectly fulfilling relationship, just because you’re in a chair. Hundreds of people do it, thousands of people do. Being in the chair doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me.”

Charles hesitated, wavering, searching his face. “Erik, you want the boy I was. A version of me that’s healthy, sarcastic, able, attractive. Not a man in a wheelchair with five foster children and track marks on his arm.” It was the first time Charles had ever truly acknowledged them in front of Erik, and Erik opened his mouth to refute that as an additional issue, but Charles continued. “I know you think that’s not true, that you think it won’t be that way, but you don’t understand.” Charles hesitated for a moment, then,

“From the moment I saw your mind, I was… enamored. I had never seen anything like it- I still haven’t, actually. It’s utterly unique, brighter and sharper than anything I’ve ever seen. I loved you then, of course. That was easy. You, who constantly took care of us, who had lived through such horrors and still moved forward, who had more power in his bones than you could have imagined. You, who kissed me and smiled at me and argued with me. It was simple and inevitable that I would fall for you. And I love you still, I love your mind, your impatience and patience with the children, your strength and resilience and smiles and arguments, just as much as I ever have, if not more fiercely, but that’s exactly _why…”_ Charles shook his head sharply, as if trying to clear it of the memories and hope like water.

Erik smiled, relaxing. The hard parts were out in the open now, so this would be easier. Charles still loved him, insanity and murders regardless. He had seen all that Erik had done that first night when he had searched him. He had talked him through an episode just a week ago. He knew what Erik was and what he was capable of, and he loved him anyway. It was difficult to believe, but Erik knew better than to think that Charles would allow anyone to think he cared for them more than he did. He was too kind for that. Erik lifted Charles’ fingers to his lips, kissing them. “And that’s why what?” Erik asked against Charles’ skin, looking back up at him from where he had settled in front of Charles’ wheelchair. 

“Erik, I’ve been down this road before.” Charles brushed his thumb against Erik’s cheek, blue eyes dark and miserable. “Being with someone who isn’t exactly able, mental or physical, it isn’t… easy. Resentments build-- from the trauma, from the chair, from the telepathy, whatever. And then when you realize that I’m not who I was, that I’m not that idealized boy, then... When the revulsion or discomfort comes, I won’t be able to escape it. I will _feel_ it, the rejection in your mind and mine, and I genuinely cannot see a way of surviving when you inevitably confirm every flaw I already loathe about myself. With the others, it sucked, it hurt, but I could move on. They weren’t you. I couldn’t just move on from hearing that from you.” 

“I don’t care what the others did,” Erik said steadily, then paused. “Well, I do. I can track them down and kill them, if you’d like, for being such shitty people. But my point is, Charles, I love you as you are. I know you aren’t the same person you were, but do you honestly think I care?” Anger flared as Erik considered this ridiculous notion. “I love you for who you are, and damn anyone who can’t see how fucking lucky they are to have you near them. You are the best thing in my life and always have been. I’m not going to just suddenly stop loving you because I realize, somehow, that you aren’t a seventeen year old anymore. _I’m_ not the same person I was when you fell in love with me, either.”

“Your soul is,” he disagreed quietly, but he looked like his certainty was wavering, faltering in the face of Erik’s absolute confidence in this.

Charles, Erik knew, wasn’t used to being uncertain, torn, or indecisive. He had opinions on everything, from tea to politics to literature. He controlled his gift rigidly, made sure the house and the school ran smoothly, made certain that everything was safe, orderly, and effective. Charles was always optimistic that things would work out. It was an attitude cultivated over the past six years, built on sweat and stress and hard effort. Erik knew how proud Charles was of the optimism he had snatched from the jaws of his trauma, and thus knew how stressful Charles would find the situation of _not_ being certain and _not_ being optimistic about something he wanted so badly. He could see these thoughts warring on Charles’ face, brushing against Erik’s mind as his shields frayed.

“I love you,” Erik repeated carefully, unused to the words and a little uncomfortable saying them out loud, but it was necessary. Charles needed to know. “As you are. Not some idealized version of you. I know you’re struggling right now. I know that it won’t be perfect, right away. We’ll both have issues. But I don’t care. You are good, and kind, and affectionate. You have a brilliant mind and a bleeding heart, and you make everyone feel at home and safe with you. You aren’t afraid to fight with me, and you tell me the truth instead of lying to make things easier. You’re not afraid to be honest with me, and I love that. All of those things existed when we were young, and they’re unchanged now. Those are the reasons I have been in love with you for seven years, and whatever else you’ve gone through, those things haven’t changed. You are an incredible person, and all the rest is just details we can work through. If you can care about me regardless of the blood on my hands and my insanity and all the baggage I bring with me, why the hell wouldn’t I be able to be willing to work through whatever you’re struggling with?” Erik stroked Charles’ cheek with his thumb and leaned up and forward, pressing his lips to the telepath’s gently.

Charles was still for just a moment, then leaned forward, catching the back of Erik’s neck and pulling him closer. Warmth rushed across Erik’s skin, the nearly-euphoric joy reflected back between his mind and Charles’ in a sort of feedback loop, and Erik grinned, basking in the warmth and pure happiness of it. He had almost forgotten how wonderful that was. Charles shivered, pulling back from the kiss with a brilliant smile. 

_I love you, you beautiful British idiot._ Erik rested his forehead against Charles’.

_I love you, you grumpy German sod,_ Charles replied cheerfully, stroking his hand slowly through Erik’s hair. He hesitated, then spoke the words aloud carefully, “ _Ich liebe dich.”_

Erik laughed, closing his eyes, and rested his hand on Charles’ cheek. “Thank you. You are completely insane for thinking I didn’t feel that way about you.”

“I knew you wanted me,” he disagreed, shutting his eyes. “But whether it will last is a different concern entirely. I’d rather not love and lose you. Not again. I’d rather keep you simply as a friend, if that were the alternative.”

“That’s fair.” Erik smiled a little, accepting this logic. “But I won’t. I have thought- extensively- about the effect our current situation will have on our lives, and I don’t see much. There are certain things that will need to be altered, that’s all. I’m so sorry that you have been met with people who felt otherwise, _liebe.”_ Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ eyebrow. “But it won’t happen with me. I would never have let this go this far, if I wasn’t certain.”

Charles’ face split into a brilliant smile, blue eyes lighting. Erik could feel the optimism returning on the other side of the link— the idea of days filled with arguments and chess matches and working with the kids flickering through Charles’ mind. It all seemed so very possible to the telepath suddenly, his hard-won optimism bolstered and flourishing. “Okay,” he agreed quietly, pulling Erik a little closer. “Okay. We’ll do this, then. As long as you want me, I’m yours.”

“Then you’ll be stuck with me for a long time,” Erik said with a grin, and kissed him again.

* * *

The next few days were some of the happiest of Erik’s life. He was back home, Angel was slowly on her way to forgiving him, and the household more or less at peace. Erik and Charles were finally together, and that made so much difference to the way that Erik’s entire life functioned. He was no longer so concerned about keeping things casual. He could kiss Charles whenever he wanted, could brush his hand, play with his fingers, press his lips to the back of his telepath’s shoulder. It was wonderful to just sit together and talk, and lean over to kiss or touch him whenever he wanted. Erik loved every moment of this newfound freedom.

He had also more or less moved into Charles’ room. They were taking things slow, so there was nothing more than sleeping or the occasional kiss, but falling asleep beside Charles and waking up to his face was incredible. It was also very funny to see just how uncoordinated Charles could be, when he was sleepy and having just woken up.

On Friday, they headed out together with the students for the movie they had already been promised. The students argued for the entire drive about what movie to watch. Alex and Sean bickered violently enough with Angel and Darwin that Hank half-hid behind his own backpack for protection, claiming that he would absolutely not break the tie. Charles appointed Erik the tie-breaker, and Erik chose Angel’s choice, hoping to score a few points. The other children had all happily accepted his return home, but she was being a little standoffish still, and he’d take whatever he could to help with that.

The kids were happy with the movie nonetheless, throwing popcorn at each other as they watched. Erik didn’t care for the movie, but it was really just an excuse to act like he was talking to Charles here and there when he was actually pressing kisses to his telepath’s neck and making Charles turn that lovely pink color he did sometimes.

Afterwards, the kids begged to be allowed to stay in the city for another few hours. Charles gave in easily enough, handing each a fifty, and the four scattered, vanishing into the depths of the mall they had watched the movie at.

“What did you think?” Charles grinned up at Erik as they meandered past the stores, both constantly listening for any sign that the kids had set something on fire or caused other chaos. “Better than Sean’s choice?”

“Most generally, _everything_ is better than whatever Sean chooses.” Erik rolled his eyes. “That boy has absolutely no taste in the slightest.”

Charles laughed. “That’s not even slightly true. He just happens to choose movies for the score rather than the plot, which is, admittedly, not the best way to decide what to see at the cinema.”

“Does he?” Erik blinked at him. “I didn’t know he was musical to that degree.” He thought back to how Sean had gotten so excited about the records, how he had freaked out over a new pair of headphones coming out… “Well. I suppose that’s not a terrible thing, then. I could buy him the soundtrack for Christmas or something.”

Charles chuckled. “Sean wants to arrange scores for movies, Alex wants to work in a mechanic shop, Darwin wants to open a cafe-and-flower-shop, and Angel thinks that aspirations are for the weak and plans on road tripping for the rest of her life, with CIA like Moira as a back-up.” He glanced at Erik curiously, smiling as he raised his peppermint tea to his lips as Erik laughed. “Do you buy Christmas presents, considering that you’re Jewish?”

Erik gave him a smile. “I never celebrated as a child, we had Hanukkah. And at Hallow Hall, we didn’t do Christmas or birthdays or any holidays. We only knew the season, we never knew the date. After I got out of there, I wasn’t exactly filled with holiday cheer, so no, I’ve never celebrated Christmas really, but I know the kids will. I’ve been thinking about a plan for presents.”

“Well, we’ll make it a good holiday for you.” Charles’ eyes crinkled up at him. “Would you like a menorah in the hou-” he broke off, turning to look around the mall quickly as his hands fell to the wheels of his chair, curling around them, white-knuckled.

“What?” Erik leapt to his feet, immediately reaching out with his gift and grabbing hold of five or six chairs, tables, and benches. He tried to remember where he had last seen the children. “Charles, what?”

His skin had gone white, the cup of tea tumbling to the floor. “Mally’s,” he said hoarsely. “Angel and Alex-”

“I’m going. Stay here.” Erik took off at a run, leaping over the half-wall that separated the food court from the rest of the mall, following the map that he’d memorized when they walked into the building. Mally’s was at the other end, but Erik was fucking _fast,_ pushing against the ground with his gift as hard as he could.

He was vaguely aware of people shuttling themselves sharply out of his way, Charles clearly using his gift to clear his path, but he didn’t have time to think about it, didn’t have time to marvel about his partner’s gift as he usually did. He skidded into the store and caught a glimpse of Alex’s gold hair toward the back.

“Alex!” He snapped, flying to the back and grabbing his shoulder. “Where the hell is Angel?”

“She’s talking to that guy about sneakers.” He looked up at him in surprise, pulling the headphones he had been testing off his head with alarm, and pointed to the left. Erik turned sharply and felt like he had been hit in the face. The world skidded to a halt, everything turning to ice around him. He was losing his mind.

Sebastian Shaw was standing there, his hand on Angel’s arm. He looked exactly the same, not even aged a day, his eyes the same sharp, flat blue, smiling down at her with the exact same paternal veneer he’d always shown the ‘students’ at Hallow Hall, usually right before he tore into them with a knife. Angel was frowning up at him, listening to his speech and seeming unbothered by the fact that he was touching her.

_“Ah. It’s fine.” Zasha winced as Erik rolled up her sleeve to examine the hand-shaped bruise that was nearly black against her skin. “Not so bad, Two.”_

“Angel.” Erik held out a hand, shocked that it wasn’t shaking. He was still numb, still feeling cold. His mind whirled, calculating distance and force and pressure, the chances of what he could do and the potential outcomes. He couldn’t attack Shaw, not with the man’s hand on Angel. “ _Nina,_ I need you to go over to Alex and I need you both to go get the professor. He’s having a problem.” He watched her from the corner of his eye, unable to look away from Shaw’s face. “Find the others.”

_Charles, am I having a psychotic break?_ He couldn’t hardly even breathe, trying desperately to think of a way to get her away from Shaw, to get his hands off her and to get her and Alex both as far away as possible. He didn’t know where the others were, what if he’d hurt them? What if Shaw had gotten to Hank, to Sean, the most pacifistic of their group? _I see Shaw, Charles. Is it Shaw?_

_It’s Shaw._ His voice was hoarse, even in Erik’s mind. _I’m coming, keep your distance, get Angel_ away _from him-_

“Erik.” Shaw was beaming at him, full of pride and warmth, like he was his oldest and dearest friend. “You’ve grown so much.”

“You know each other?” Angel looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly with confusion, and Shaw patted her hand. She moved away slightly, and his fingers curled around her wrist.

“We go way back, Erik and I,” he agreed, turning his attention from Erik to focus back on her. “As I was saying, my dear… There is a place for you, if you want it.” His thumb brushed against her arm slowly and a shelf behind Alex crumpled, the metal twisting in on itself. The boy stood quickly, moving closer to them. “You don’t have to hide away what you are. You deserve to be more free than that, not cooped up and hidden from the world.”

“Angel.” It was a snap, a command, and Erik didn’t care at the moment what she thought about him ordering her around. “I need you to move back. Shaw, let her go. She’s got nothing to do with this. Let her go right now.” Metal groaned around him and he saw Alex reaching out to touch Angel's other arm. “You both need to get out of here. Find the others and the professor and go back to the car. _Now.”_ God, how he wished he had Charles’ compulsion. He’d give anything for it right now. _Charles, make her go. Now, she’s not going._

There was a beat of nothing, and then her eyes blanked, her body taking a step closer, toward Alex. Shaw’s hand tightened violently onto her arm, fingers standing out against her blanching skin, and he yanked her closer again. “No need to be rude, Erik,” he chastised, and Erik felt a dull roar of panic and anger from Charles’ half of the bond between them.

“Stop,” Erik almost begged, taking a sharp step forward. The metal around them quivered but they both knew Shaw could hurt her or worse before Erik could stop him. She was too close. “What do you want? Just let her go, she’s not part of this. Alex, get your ass back.” He knocked him back as Alex lunged with a snarl, a ring of light around one wrist.

“Let her go, you piece of shit,” he hissed, and Erik felt a tiny bit of tension ease as he felt the sudden presence of Charles’ chair and bracelet behind him. He pushed Alex back again as Shaw beamed.

“And _Twelve,_ dear boy, the rumors were true.”

“Get your hand off my student,” Charles ordered, voice lower and angrier than Erik had ever heard it. “ _Alex, get out and join the others,”_ he commanded, and Alex began moving away stiffly. Surrounding civilians were also moving away, emptying the space around them. Shaw’s smile widened slightly.

“Look at you and your new tricks. A new chair, too, hm?”

“Let her _go.”_ Erik snarled, helpless fury beating against his skin. The metal around them shook, twisting into jagged shapes. Angel’s eyes remained blank, softly unfocused, and Charles took a deep breath.

Shaw tilted his head, watching Erik with a fond sort of smile. “I have missed you,” he murmured softly. “I could keep her, you know. You haven’t been concerned with me at all as of late, it’s more than a little disheartening.”

“Shaw, she is a _child.”_ Charles’ voice was acid. “Let. Her. _**Go.”**_ There was a pulse of heat behind the words and Shaw’s hand loosened sharply. Angel ripped away, crashing backwards into Erik’s chest, and he had just enough time to see a flare of something that looked very like hatred in Shaw’s eyes before he vanished in a blinding flash of light.

There was a moment of frozen stillness, and then Angel was heaving in a breath, stumbling back a sharp step and gripping Erik’s arm for balance. “Who the hell was that?!”

“We need to get back to the house _now,”_ Charles demanded, looking rigid and white-faced. “Right now. We can debrief on the way, but _**move.”**_

Erik felt his legs move at the same time as Angel’s, both of them starting at a jog toward the door. His body was moving mechanically, but his mind was free. Mostly, it was just panic.

Shaw was around again. Shaw was active and strong and he knew how to find them, he’d been _touching_ Angel and Alex had been _right there._ He barely had any coherent thoughts, it was mostly just pure panic that they’d been so close to Shaw, that Shaw had tracked down his children and he’d had his hand on one of them. The back of his leg ached as he thought about the burns Shaw was capable of.

They got in the car where the others were waiting and Erik lowered the ramp and helped lock Charles in, getting into the driver's seat and pulling away. There was silence for a while, the atmosphere peaceful and still, and once they were far enough away, Charles released the compulsion and the breathing filling the car was no longer calm.

“Angel,” Erik gritted out before they could say anything, “Did he burn you at all?”

“No, just stung me.” Her voice was tight and angry, and he glanced back briefly to see a pink handprint standing out on her arm. It wasn’t shiny, though, looking more like a slap than an actual burn. Some of the tension bled out of his chest at that, but his muscles still felt locked-down tight, his hands white on the wheel.

“What the hell just happened?!” Sean looked between them wildly.

“Who the hell _was_ that?” Alex checked Angel’s arm, clearly very upset.

“It’s my fault, I should have told you who he was and who to look for.” Charles was rigid, his eyes locked out the window and looking extremely far-away. “I thought I’d know, I thought-”

“ _Who was that?”_ Angel demanded, and Charles flinched slightly.

“Sebastian Shaw. He owned the… place that Erik and I were trapped in, along with the girls from the portrait in my office. He broke my spine and killed them.”

“He did fucking _what?”_ Sean stared at him, grabbing Darwin’s arm, and Hank, who had been quiet, let out a soft whistle of breath from behind his teeth.

“Jesus, Professor, you never told me that.”

“He didn’t tell _any_ of us that. Why was he there?” Angel looked between Charles and Erik sharply. “He wanted me to come with him, said that he had a school.”

“A school,” Charles echoed under his breath, the word a soft breath of horror.

Erik’s hands were white as he clutched the steering wheel, seeing all the horrors visited to him but with the children in the back in the images running through his mind instead. “Shaw took me as a child. Killed my mother. He-” he stopped, taking in deep breaths for a moment. “He thinks of himself as a scientist. I will not go into the things he did to us because you don’t need to have those nightmares in you. He has another school?” It felt like he couldn’t breathe. “Another, Charles? He has _another?”_ Erik was dangerously close to having some sort of breakdown so he stopped talking and focused on the road and his breathing.

“I’ll find it.” Charles’ hand crossed over, catching Erik’s wrist and squeezing, a steady and solid presence. Erik was well aware that the students would have a reaction to that most any other time, but they were more concerned about a lot of other things right now. “He can’t hide an entire school, he can’t. I’ll use Cerebro, we’ll find them. I’ll ask Moira about missing children, we’ll- we’ll figure it out.” He shook his head hollowly, the children watching them silently for a moment from the back.

“We can help,” Darwin offered, leaning forward in his seat. “Professor, we’re not useless, we can learn to fight, Professor Eisenhardt has already been training us. We can go to the school, we can-”

“You are going _nowhere_ near Sebastian Shaw,” Charles interrupted aggressively, hand tightening reflexively, painfully, around Erik’s wrist. “You are going home, where it’s safer, where there are defenses. He found you, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t guard you from that better, but he _will not_ touch you again.”

“No.” Erik shook his head. “We’ll keep him away. Don’t you dare think you can go off half cocked and win,” he snapped at the silence from the back. “I watched Shaw kill children younger than you in ways you can’t imagine. He doesn’t care. Nothing you do and nothing you are will protect you. Just do what we say and you will make it. We need you to trust us on this. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”

“Why was he there?” Hank asked quietly.

_Because of me,_ Erik thought numbly, and luckily Charles answered instead.

“He made a habit of kidnapping young mutants seven years ago. Maybe he knows you all exist. Maybe it’s about Erik or I. But either way, we’re going to keep you safe. And when we find the other school, we’ll keep them safe, too. Whatever it takes.” Charles shook his head, and silence fell for the rest of the drive.

When they parked, the kids went inside quietly, barely making it through the door before they started talking to each other. Charles didn’t move to get out of the van, instead looking over at Erik. “I could look,” he murmured quietly, pulling his hand down to twine their fingers together. “But what are you thinking?”

Erik turned to face him, closing his hands around Charles’ and monitoring his own breathing. All he could hear was Charles’ screams, all he could see was blood and his mother’s face and all the horrors he had ever seen at Hallow Hall. “I think that I can’t have Shaw take everything away from me again,” he said, feeling his heart ache. “He’s done it once, Charles. I can’t do it again. He found our kids, how did he even know we were going to be there? He had his hand on her and Alex was right there behind her-” he stopped, breathing in and out slowly, then continued. “I’m fucking terrified he’s going to hurt you again and he’s got another school and that makes me want to just-” more long and measured breaths. “I’m thinking I feel like I’m going insane. He was just there all of the sudden, Charles. With our kids. Trying to get Angel to come with him.” His hands squeezed Charles maybe a little too tightly. “Charles, please tell me that I didn’t lead him to them.”

“Darling,” he murmured, reaching up with one hand and pressing it to Erik’s cheek. “I told you from the start-- _someone,_ Shaw or Emma, had to let me go. I have been waiting for him every day for seven years. And then you add in me collecting children together, mutant children without families… he couldn’t have a better target, it’s perfectly his type.” He stroked across Erik’s cheek with his thumb slowly, soothingly, and Erik leaned into his hand. “He was always going to find us. He has a thing about you, I get that, but I don’t think he ever lost me. And as for them, if he has another school… he could have snatched them up anyway, if I hadn’t brought them here.” He leaned up, pressing his forehead against Erik’s and pulling him closer. “He is a cruel, sadistic bastard. You can’t take the blame for that.”

“At least Alex and Angel can protect themselves. What if he cornered Sean or Hank?” Erik leaned into him, trying to believe what Charles was saying. “Or Darwin. He can’t throw things or fight, all he can do is defend. And that means Shaw would have to get that close.” His teeth ground together. “How did you know it was him? Could you hear him?”

“I heard the blank space.” Charles’ hand slid from his cheek to anchor on the back of his neck. “And then I found Angel’s mind and saw his face in it. I don’t understand it. If he had a teleporter close enough to grab him and run that quickly, he could have just grabbed any of the kids. _All_ of them. He wanted us to see him with them, he was deliberately screwing with us.” He shook his head, hand tightening a little, and then it loosed again, stroking Erik’s skin soothingly once more. “That’s his downfall, Erik. He’s always been too arrogant. The manor has defenses, and the kids know how to protect themselves. You can train them further-- maybe they’ll actually take it seriously now that they have an enemy. Sean’s gift _could_ be offensive, he just doesn’t take it to heart. Same with Hank. I’ll call Moira and let her know that there’s been movement from Shaw, and I can contact Logan to request an additional layer of protection. The man is a living tank, he can help cover our back.”

For once, the name didn’t irritate him. Erik nodded, making plans. “They’re going to train all the time,” he said. “Constantly. I’ll attack them in the way he might, we’ll practice. If Shaw comes for them, he’s going to take out one or both of us.” His hand tightened on Charles’ wrist, pain flickering through him sharply at the idea of being hurt enough that he couldn’t protect Charles. but he needed to train them for that. It was a possibility and he couldn’t just hope it wouldn’t happen. He’d fight like hell, but Shaw was insanely powerful. “They need to be ready to fight until they can get away. We need to set up a safe place for them to regroup. He knows where we are and we pissed him off.”

“I broke through enough to compel him, even if just for a minute.” Charles’ smile was uncharacteristically sharp. “Maybe next time I’ll be able to sink in and hold him still.” He pulled back, angling forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Erik’s lips. “We’re going to keep them safe. He’s not going to win this time, Erik. I promise.”

Erik gave a small smile and nodded a little. “I love you,” he said quietly, kissing him back. He would train those kids so hard they’d beg for him to go back to New York. He wouldn’t fail. Not again. Not when he had so much to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is from "Turning Page," from Sleeping at Last, which is one of the loveliest and most romantic songs ever.
> 
> Also, can you guys believe we only have six chapters left?? Where did the time go??
> 
> Also also-- if you look way back in Chapter 5, Charles mentions that Erik's tattoos look faintly familiar. The dreams are why!
> 
> We love you all so much! Leave comments with feedback/thoughts/questions so we can continue to interact with our favorite people and continue making this better for you!


	13. When My Time Comes Around: Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot continues to progress as Charles handles the aftermath of having encountered Shaw again. His experiments with Cerebro reach a new level.

“You’re headed off again,” Charles guessed shrewdly, his chin in his hand as he examined Raven, who was being relatively quiet at breakfast, her eyes distant and somewhat preoccupied. He didn’t check her thoughts, he’d promised when they were children not to as long as he could help it, but he could read her expressions and body language as well as he could most people’s minds. Not to mention how loud her emotions were, regardless of whether or not he allowed himself to translate those feelings into her thoughts. “You’ve got that look. Where are you headed to this time? Paris, Los Vegas, Alaska?”

It was a joke without humor. He knew where she was going, knew why she was leaving.

The last few days had been absolute chaos.

Erik and Charles were together, and that made every day more incredible than Charles could have anticipated. Erik had immediately taken to sleeping in his bed, though nothing had progressed further than that. Charles liked having his warmth, having his weight beside him, having him there when he woke in the middle of the night. He was happy with the arrangement, particularly with the added stress of Shaw ever-present in the background of every mind in the mansion, and Erik seemed to be just as content to be able to check on Charles throughout the night as well.

Erik was surprisingly physically affectionate, something Charles hadn’t fully been able to anticipate, since they had not had the luxury of being able to touch each other often when they had been together as teenagers. He would frequently come into the room and press a kiss to the back of Charles’ neck, or fix the collar of his button-up, or settle beside him so that their arms were brushing as they both read. It never failed to send a thrill shooting through Charles, the world brightening nearly unbearably.

But, simultaneously, the threat of Shaw loomed more powerfully than ever, a constant threat that felt like a black cloudbank overhead.

The kids had made it a night before asking questions. To their credit, they waited until they were in class and had Charles by himself, clearly seeking to avoid triggering Erik any further than he already may have been. Hank had snuck into the room as well, not satisfied hearing about anything second-hand, and they had a town hall. They asked about Shaw; his motives, the things he had done, the things they wanted. They deserved answers, and so Charles gave them. Shaw had killed at least ten young mutants when Charles was a teenager, he wanted power and possibly an army, he hated humans and thought they were collateral damage.

Angel and Alex were, in particular, tense that Charles hadn’t told them the truth earlier. Maybe it was because they had actually been in danger, actually _seen_ Shaw firsthand. He didn’t push to look at the exact motivations of their anger-- they deserved it. Guilt was a rock in his stomach, and there was no excuse to alleviate the weight.

He didn’t have a reason that he hadn’t warned them. Not a good one. He hadn’t wanted to delve back into the pain of his past. He hadn’t wanted to scare them. He hadn’t wanted them to think that he was being like Shaw, collecting them for any purpose other than their own safety and joy. He hadn’t wanted to admit to the parallel, he hadn’t wanted them to live in fear, and he had been arrogant enough to think, after seven years of silence, that perhaps Shaw wouldn’t come. Perhaps Charles was strong enough to protect them.

He’d been a fool. An arrogant fool.

So he answered their questions during class, made a projection of Shaw to show them so they could recognize him, and detailed to them just how much damage his gift of energy manipulation could do. He could feel their anxiety and their fear, and it made him nauseous, but he told them the truth this time. They were quiet afterwards, sharing glances, and he dismissed class early so that they could go upstairs and whisper about the situation. He gave them privacy for that, fighting his own inclination to check and see what they were saying.

Raven hadn’t taken the news well, either. She had yelled at him for going anywhere alone, throwing a book across the room, and had lectured him at length about the many dangers of malls and how many people she’d had killed in malls. She wasn’t really angry, though, Charles knew. He knew even without trying to look, as she yelled until she ran out of steam, how scared she’d been when the name _Shaw_ had come back to her. Erik had been consumed by his own horrors, but Raven was consumed with her memories of Charles’ disappearance and his state afterward. Like Erik, she was seeing the children she loved in their places. It had all been too loud for Charles not to hear it. Of course she didn’t have the true knowledge of what Shaw had done, but her imagination was colorful enough that she’d gotten close.

He wasn’t looking now, but he caught the edge of her thoughts anyways. She was going to Moira, utilizing her friendship and contact with the CIA agent to put more pressure on Shaw.

Erik was jogging at present, and Charles could catch a glimpse of him every so often through the windows. He had his shirt off, and it made it incredibly hard for Charles to focus on his sister, who was buttering a piece of toast with too much energy.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Moira said that she has a contact in Kentucky who claims to have information on missing young mutants.” She watched Erik running in feigned interest, clearly seeking to change the subject. “I had no idea he had so much _ink.”_

Charles fought down a grin despite the underlying subject matter, his eyes following Erik around the track he’d beaten in the yard. He had slept shirtless next to Charles for the first time the night before and, as they’d gotten into bed, Charles had realized that the tattoo over Erik’s heart was of a knight chesspiece, a Roman numeral twelve etched on its base. He had others scattered all over- designs that Charles hadn’t directly asked about, but that one caught his eye now as Erik ran past the dining room.

_“You got a tattoo for me?” Charles couldn’t keep the words at bay as he propped himself up on an elbow, his hand falling to rest atop the tattoo. He looked up at Erik in surprise, fascinated and more than flattered._

_“Yes.” Erik’s ears turned pink as he flushed a little. “I… you were and are the center of my world. Of course I’d get a tattoo for you.”_

He couldn’t stop the grin now, instead burying it in his hand. “Yeah, I was surprised as well,” he agreed, focusing on his sister. “And our dear Henry, you’re leaving him to pine for you again?”

“Hank doesn’t care, Charles.” She rolled her eyes, but Charles didn’t have to use his gift to know she was faking her nonchalance. “If I were a science experiment he’d be all over me. As is, he’s just… he likes the attention. He’s cute and sweet, he’ll find some sciencey girl and she’ll be his lab assistant and have technical conversations and it will be wonderful. He doesn’t want a mercenary.” She raised an eyebrow at Charles, trying to change the subject. “I noticed Eisenhardt’s bed hasn’t been slept in, though.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said cheerfully, turning to fill a mug with coffee. He set it aside along with a bottle of water for Erik to drink when he got back in. “And you don’t know. Henry is a serious lad, but a good one. Your absence always makes him miss you, maybe it’ll help him realize that he needs to make a move. And if it doesn’t, he doesn’t deserve you in the first place. What time are you leaving?”

“This afternoon, I’m supposed to be there by tomorrow.” She shook her head, focusing back on her job and Charles nodded, catching the worried tenor as it returned to the forefront of her mind.

“I’ll miss you, as always... However,” he said, eyeing her speculatively. “Does this mean then that you trust Erik now, since you’re leaving us with him?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I guess so. It’s hard for me to trust anyone with you guys, you’re all too trusting and sweet and good. Angel’s the only one who has enough of a brain to distrust people immediately, and even _she_ likes him, more or less. So I don’t know. It stresses me out to leave when Shaw’s made a move, but we can’t just wait around here for him to find us like sitting ducks. You said Logan is on his way back, and your boundary line should hold Shaw out, right?” The tension in her voice could be cut with a knife.

“It will hold,” he agreed firmly. He was devoting more power to it than usual. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt the kids,” Charles reminded her gently. “I don’t believe in violence, but I’m not going to let anyone touch them, either.” He’d already slipped up once, letting Shaw put a hand on Angel in the mall. It would be the last time, he swore to himself. They would be safe now, even if it killed him.

It had been seven years, but the memory of how it felt to kill someone hadn’t faded, instead always present in the background of his mind like a dying ember. There was a small, star-shaped white scar on his cheek that served as a constant reminder of what he could be and do, and he allowed it to remind him further.

The man’s name had been Mikhail Davenport. He had been half-Russian and had emigrated to the area in order to try to find work. His goal had been to send money back for his mother and siblings, to support them as his father had recently passed. Charles had been making anonymous payments to their family for the last seven years, but it would never bring ‘Dave’ back. 

Charles would never kill again, but that didn’t mean that he would fail to protect his family, either. The only life he was willing to gamble was his own… and perhaps Shaw’s, if it truly came to that. 

“I’ll keep them safe,” he assured Raven, his voice darker than he’d have liked. “And Erik will aid me. Logan will be here in two day’s time, and you’ll be back as soon as you’re done with your contact. I had Erik excavate the emergency exit tunnel and hid a Jeep with supplies at the end, so we have an out if shit hits the fan.”

“Good.” She chewed her toast, watching him. “Don’t be a martyr,” she said, startling him. “I mean it, Charles. Go with them if that happens. Don’t stay here, don’t risk yourself. You’re worth everything, and we need you. Don’t do anything stupid and risk losing yourself.”

“I won’t do anything unnecessarily risky,” he agreed, resting his folded hands on the table. It was the most he could promise her. He was in a _wheelchair._ If something sudden happened, he wouldn’t exactly be able to run with the kids and Erik. Genuinely, the best outcome he could hope for was to send them off and be able to delay Shaw long enough that they could get to safety.

But there was no way in hell he was going to tell her that.

“I’m glad you trust Erik,” he continued instead, taking a drink of his tea. “I know that your only contact with him was of a more aggressive nature, but… if someone had met me six years ago, and judged me on that, it would hardly have been a good impression there, either,” he reminded her gently. “He’s safe. Trust me on that.” His attention was redirected briefly as Erik came in, shirtless and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat, and he cleared his throat. _Water and coffee on the counter for you, love._ “Raven’s headed to Kentucky this afternoon,” he said aloud.

 _Thank you._ Warmth and affection flooded the bond and he picked up a water bottle, chugging it. He lowered the bottle, considering and toweling himself off. “Raven, you’re going today?”

“I am,” she agreed. “If shit hits the fan, you’ll take care of my family for me?”

Erik gave her a smile, the bottle pausing on its way to his mouth. “That is something you never need to worry about,” he assured her. “I won’t let anything happen to them.” He was feeling better today, Charles noted with relief as he skimmed across the emotions in the bond. Shaw’s sudden reappearance had shaken him badly and he had had horrific nightmares for the past two days. Charles had worried about another PTSD episode, but the encounter had seemed to push him more aggressively into the present than into the past. He had been running laps twice a day since and drilling the kids insanely hard, waking them up in the middle of the night for faux attacks and defensive strategies. “Enjoy your trip. I can’t say I miss traveling every day all day.”

She snorted. “Stop your bitching. I never sent you to Canada, at least.”

“Canada’s not so bad,” Charles offered with a sip of tea. His mind traced back to the thought of her contact in Kentucky and he felt himself frown slightly. “I don’t like you going after Shaw, Raven. He’s dangerous, what if he realizes you’re out there? You might not be young anymore, but you still possess an incredible mutation that he would _love_ to utilize.”

She smiled. “Charles, how could he even keep track of me? I can lose anyone, at any time. I’ll let you know if there’s anything useful, I promise not to go after him without you guys, but I’m going.”

She had been doing this for years, Charles reminded himself with difficulty, and nodded. It was hard to break the habit that he had formed over years with her, the impulse to hide her and protect her at all costs and in any way he could. “All right. Be safe, and make sure you say goodbye to the kids before you go.”

“I will.” She smiled and kissed his head, her eyes warming down at him. “I’ll say goodbye again before I leave, but I’m going to finish packing. I love you, doofus.” She headed out and Erik pulled on the hoodie he always left near the back door.

“You’re not happy about her going,” he said with a smile. “Not even slightly. Why’s that? Just your endless compassion and worry for our safety?” He settled across from Charles with his water and coffee. “Or is it you’re worried about lower security around here?”

“Endless compassion is a bit much,” Charles remarked, rolling his eyes as he traced the rim of his mug. “I just don’t like her going after Shaw, is all. I know she’s perfectly competent and has been doing this well for years, but… She’s my little sister. I’ve been keeping her safe since she was six, regardless of the price. Letting her just go waltzing off into danger all the time is hard to do. We’re here to protect the kids, and Logan’s coming, so I feel secure for the moment.” He let out a breath, then turned, uncovered the plate of ham he had hidden from the boys at breakfast, and offered it to Erik.

Erik laughed at the sight of the plate and took it, catching Charles’ hand and kissing his fingers. “You are such a good person,” he said warmly. “And I’m glad that Raven seems to understand how lucky she is to have you.” He started cutting up his ham. “I understand it’s difficult. I don’t know if showing you memories of her kicking ass would be helpful or not.” He snorted. “You might just be concerned about the hits she took, but trust me- I have seen Raven in action. She’s very capable. Which I’m sure you know. You just love her.”

Charles nodded. “She didn’t handle it well when I was taken. I’d always insisted on self-defense classes and the like for her, but she got so much deeper with them afterward. I lost track of the different styles she was studying. She stopped going to normal classes, she only cared for things that would train her body. It’s paid off, clearly, but it’s still a bit sad that her life was so altered when she was only fourteen.”

He took a drink of tea, mind wandering to Cerebro. He was supposed to have another session today, was supposed to be looking in-depth for Shaw’s missing mind. Hank had theorized that they would be able to reach Asia today, and the prospects were promising. As Shaw had a teleporter, he could conceivably be anywhere on the planet and still be able to harass them as he had. Moira had given him a small list of missing mutant children, and he was going to be searching for their minds, as well.

His mind flickered briefly to Scott and he felt his stomach lurch slightly. He turned his thoughts away, back to the prospect of seeing the galaxy of minds. Even though he was doing it for Shaw, it was soothing. The rush of power and connection always dulled the edge of his fear and anxiety, enabled him to breathe truly freely for the first time in the entire day, sometimes. He had been doing two or three sessions a day since their encounter with Shaw, searching through the endless minds for any trace of him or his school. It was exhausting and had caused near-constant cluster migraines at this point, but it still calmed him and took the anxiety off.

“Have you eaten?”

Charles glanced up in surprise, finding Erik watching him. “What?”

“Have you eaten?” Erik didn’t look away. “Today, I mean. Breakfast.”

He blinked, glanced down at the cup in his hands, glanced around the room as if to find evidence that he had. “Oh. I don’t think so. I’m not very hungry in the mornings.” He waved a hand dismissively, taking another drink. He was so often cold lately— the tea helped usher warmth back into his skin and bones.

“Eat.” Erik pushed the plate of ham at him. “You need to make sure that you eat, if you’re going to be running Cerebro today.” Erik’s thoughts were strangely calm and even, which made Charles suspect that he was trying not to think about something, to bury a thought. It was a clear _stop_ sign without any images, so Charles didn’t push further to uncover the thought.

“I’m really not hungry,” Charles assured him, reaching out and curling his fingers around Erik’s. God, he was so _warm._ “I rarely am in the mornings, truly. I’ll eat lunch.”

“Charles.” Erik stood, moving around the table, and rested his hands on either armrest of Charles’ chair. He was in Charles’ space now, his face inches from Charles’, and he found suddenly that it was rather hard to breathe.

“Erm. Yes?” He looked up at him, lost in the fact that Erik’s eyes were almost grey instead of green today. And how did he _smell good,_ the man had just spent over half an hour _running_ and yet he still smelled amazing.

“You need to eat.” Erik kept his eyes locked on Charles’, and Charles felt his breath catch as Erik’s breath fanned across his lips. “Cerebro takes a lot of energy to use, you need to make sure that you’re keeping up your strength. I need you to stay strong and healthy.” 

“O-okay,” Charles conceded, still trying to kick his brain back into functioning. “You know that this is cheating, right?”

“I am a well-known cheater,” Erik murmured, lips brushing his softly. “I’m the one who moved your queen while you weren’t looking yesterday. But I need you to eat.”

 _You moved my queen? Bastard._ But he had to project the words, finding himself just short of being able to form them as he let out an unsteady breath, nipping lightly at Erik’s lower lip. _Okay. Okay, I’ll eat breakfast if it means that much to you._

 _It does._ Erik leaned forward, kissing Charles slowly and sending heat shooting through him as he cupped his jaw in one hand. _Your well-being is the absolute top of my priorities._ He pulled away and gave Charles a warm, happy smile, dark eyes hazy with contentment, then settled back in his chair and slid pieces of ham and egg onto a plate, sliding it toward Charles. “Eat, _liebe,”_ he said, tapping it, and Charles obeyed, trying to blink back into focus. 

“That was desperately unfair,” he said after he swallowed a bite. “And I can’t believe you moved my queen. I’m taking two extra moves tonight as punishment.”

Erik grinned, the grin that made him look like the teenager Charles had fallen in love with. “It’s not my fault you were so distracted by a mere observation about Poe that you lectured me for a full twenty minutes and had to get a _textbook_ in the middle of our game.” He laughed and for the hundredth time, Charles felt like he’d stepped right over the edge of a cliff. He’d tried out relationships with people who had found his lecturing and exuberance irritating or tiring, but Erik seemed to find it interesting if the topic itself interested him (which it often did) or merely amusing, thinking that Charles was adorable.

“Be that as it may,” he said, dropping his eyes back to his plate as a smile that he couldn’t stop broke across his face like sunrise. Erik, especially teasing like this, was the only thing other than Cerebro that took the edge of the anxiety. He could think of something else to remove the edge of it, but he dismissed that thought quickly. “I’m taking two moves as retribution. What are your plans for the day?”

“I’ll probably work on some finesse training with Sean and Darwin- Hank finished the flight suit, but Sean can’t get the angle just yet.” Charles caught a vague image of Erik pushing Sean off the roof like a baby bird and stared at him in open horror.

“Erik, what if he _doesn’t catch himself?_ You can’t just push the students off the roof!”

“Okay, that wasn’t _officially_ an idea I had, it was just a thought,” Erik protested with a laugh. “But at some point he’s going to have to take off the training wheels. Angel or I could catch him, anyway. She’s getting very good at carrying weight and she could slow the fall if nothing else- she asked me to start setting up combat scenarios for her yesterday.”

“Combat,” Charles echoed with a groan. “Lord. That’s one of the reasons they like Logan so much— he’s big on practicing combat training with them. Last time he threw Darwin off the roof and into the pond to see if Darwin would either grow wings or gills. It was gills. Too many people like to push my students off the roof though, so please be cautious.”

Erik laughed. “I promise I will. I don’t intend to injure them. We will have a perfectly nice and productive training session- Alex wanted to practice with the refined harness as well, so we’re going to work on that.” He considered, chewing his food. “I never expected to be teaching anyone anything. It’s bizarre, but somehow it actually works pretty well.”

“You’ve always excelled at being a protector,” Charles pointed out with a smile. “It’s hardly surprising.” He took another drink of his tea, then set the empty cup aside. He’d eaten half the plate, and idly hoped that was enough for Erik as he wiped his hands with a napkin. “I’m going to get changed and then head out to work on Cerebro. I’ll find you lot when I’m done and check in on how it’s going?”

“Of course.” Erik eyed the remains of food on the plate but said nothing. “I’ll see you later. Please be careful- Hank informed me that you pushed yourself too hard earlier this week and gave yourself a nosebleed. I’ll see you later- if you see the children tell them to be ready in about forty minutes. I need to shower and then I’ll collect them.”

“Will do.” Charles smiled at him, offered a warm telepathic brush against Erik’s mind, and then wheeled himself back to their room.

* * *

“Thank you, Hank.” Charles glanced at his watch as Hank bustled around the room, getting everything into place. He could feel Erik’s mind, working closely beside Alex and Sean’s. Angel was watching, but had refused to directly join in as of yet. She was still angry with Erik for leaving, even considering the circumstances with Shaw. He would have to continue working to regain her trust, but Charles had faith that Erik would be able to. He was sure that, by the time he pulled out of his session, she would be training alongside the boys as she always did.

“Forty-five minutes, then?” Charles glanced at Hank, trying to focus on what he was doing rather than what the others were doing. He needed his focus to be firmly on his own task. Cerebro required immense control. He couldn’t afford to have a wandering mind.

“On the dot,” Hank agreed, somewhat warily as he settled the helmet on Charles’ head. “Are you sure about this, Professor? You had a nosebleed and slept for nearly three hours after the thirty minutes last week.”

“Three hours isn’t so bad. Normal people do it for a nap,” Charles said dismissively. He didn’t like Hank’s uncertainty, the lingering thought in the back of his mind that Charles was almost _too_ eager to get back to the machine, despite what it cost him.

Hank didn’t make the comparison to an addict, but it stung all the same, brought up memories of itching elbows and an unconquerable sort of hunger.

“It’s important that I look for Shaw,” Charles said to redirect his attention, leaning back in his chair and laying his hands on the pads Hank had placed on the bannister, meant to monitor heartrate and respiration. Charles ignored the fact that his heart was already pounding a bit too fast, and Hank attributed it to nerves rather than anticipation. “And we have that list from Moira I’m still working through.” They’d already found five missing mutants in the past couple days, but there were still ten names on the list and none of them had been in the ‘school’ that Shaw had mentioned. He wanted to find at least another five today before it ended.

“All right,” Hank acquiesced, going to the controls. “Five, four, three, two-”

Charles never did really hear _one._ It was always lost in the rush of sound and sensation as he was cast into space, looking at a glowing net of stars and planets, the colors brilliant and breathtaking. Mutants were always in color, humans a softer sort of white, but Charles could feel them. All of them. Memories, thoughts, emotions, images, they swirled past him like hurricanes as he sifted through the data. It was overwhelming. It was painful. It was ecstasy. It was intoxicating.

It was lucky that Charles was physically still in the chair. He didn’t think he could stand through this anyway, his knees weakened either from the physical cost or the sheer beauty of the universe in front of him. He always projected himself into the minds, allowing himself to mentally ‘walk’ through the starlight, but he knew every second that he was still sitting in the middle of the room.

The minds of the world were so desperately breathtaking, and being connected to them all like this was… nearly blinding.

Hank had taken to being silent, allowing Charles to fully focus on his searches. Charles wandered through the minds today, walking through the darkness and peering at this mutant and that, studying them. Other attempts had been focused on honing in and trying to specify his searches-- for places or people, mainly. But this time, Charles had given himself a few precious extra minutes deliberately. This time, he just wanted some time to bask in the world.

Selfish, probably, but he could no more tear himself away than walk out the door.

Time was always indeterminate. He couldn’t feel it, nor could he feel his physical body when he was this deeply in. Sometimes it felt like Charles was here for seconds. Sometimes it felt like hours in the inky swaths of fog. When Charles had spoken to the Ringer about Erik, they had described and thought of the spiritual world almost like this. Like a shadowy version of the real world. It paled in comparison to this, but…

Shaw, he reminded himself, finding two of the names on the list. One was a fifteen year-old runaway in the woods in Alabama. He was going to go home soon. The sound of the gators in the water was scaring him. The other name was a young woman who had been indoctrinated into a cult, and he spent several moments there, scanning the minds in fascinated horror for several long moments. He made a mental note of the location of each, then left the area, wandering elsewhere, searching for the black hole that was Shaw’s mind. An absence of thought, a blackness where there should be light...

Charles paused at an odd hum, a vibration in the soundless field, and turned to look around. He had somehow wandered away from the majority of the minds, and was now in mostly-blackness, the pin-prick stars far from him but still visible. Even from this distance, even with all the other lights in the field like a city in the distance, he could see Erik’s mind glowing there. Brighter than the others, a lighthouse. He hadn’t known that he had walked away from it all. His feet had moved by themselves, drawn away by reaction. Yet there was no panic in his chest to accompany the realization, merely the oddest sense of purpose. _A little further,_ he found himself thinking, and continued walking, his metaphorical self able to do what his physical self couldn't.

And then he saw it.

It was like a geode, broken and glittering. The crystals in the mouth of the cave were dark purples, blues, and blacks. They were jagged and fearsome, beautiful in a way that nothing else here was. There were no items here, only minds and bodies, and yet… the cave in front of Charles was utterly, vividly, present. It wasn’t a mind, he couldn’t feel any sentience, but…

There was something there. Charles could feel it, shivering and deep within the darkness in the center of the cave. He moved forward slowly, hearing an odd rush in his ears, focused only on his pale fingers reaching out to the yawning darkness within the crevice of the geode--

And then everything fizzled out sharply, the cave and the universe falling out of his reach. He reached for one panicked moment for his anchor, but the world was falling out of his hands before he could catch a hold of him. Then everything went black as pain exploded in his chest, the lights in the darkness winking out one by one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from 'Work Song,' by Hozier. If you haven't seen the video, you should. The synchronization of the dancers' choreography is M E S M E R I Z I N G.
> 
> Also. Uh.   
> *Glances nervously at Lyra, who specifically asked for no more trauma for Erik and Charles*  
> *starts sweating bullets*   
> Um. I guess. I guess I offer an apology? XD We are so sorry.


	14. Sometimes Quiet is Violent: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles handle the aftermath of Charles' experiments with Cerebro.

“Again,” Erik ordered, raising his hands. “Come on, Darwin. Your mutation is great with defense, but you need to be able to handle offense, too.”

“Yeah, Darwin!” Sean laughed from where he, Angel, and Alex were sitting, watching Darwin’s moves and yelling out scores every so often. It was fun and buoyant, a moment suspended with the laughter of the teenagers. It was a nice break from the tension that had been reigning since he’d seen Shaw’s face. “You gotta handle the offense!”

Darwin made a scoffing sound, balled his hands into fists again, and prepared to swing at Erik again just as there was a sudden _sparking_ sensation, like flint being ripped across steel in the back of Erik’s mind. He turned to look behind him, his hands lowering, and Darwin blinked up at him. “Professor Eisenhardt? Are you okay?”

 _Charles?_ Erik turned, scanning the grounds, and found the metal of his bracelet inside Cerebro. Charles didn’t answer. More than didn’t answer. His mind was gone, missing, a blank space that Erik could feel. 

_Charles?_ He projected the name more loudly, with as much strength as he could as he stepped away from Darwin’s side. Concern turned to fear, to terror. _Charles!_

And there was dead silence, an abyss in place of a shimmering link that had always burned in the background between them. 

Erik took a step, two, three at a run, and stopped, then turned. “Something’s wrong with the Professor,” he said sharply. The children started moving and he snarled, trying to tamp down the fear that pounded a tattoo inside his skull. If he didn’t get them away, they would make it worse, or be in danger too, and neither Charles nor he would forgive himself. “Stop. I need you to go inside and to one room. I need you to go upstairs and stay there until one of us gets you: there’s no time to argue. I need you guys to _stay._ I will let you know. _Go.”_

He shoved at them and they exchanged glances. All the while, Erik was vaguely aware of movement inside Cerebro, metal being moved and thrown. Darwin put a hand on Sean and Alex’s shoulder, giving a small push, and they broke, darting toward the house. Angel went last, staring at Cerebro with a torn expression, but allowed Alex’s hand to close around her wrist and drag her along with them.

Raven had already left for Kentucky, Erik noted to himself distantly as he bolted toward Cerebro. It didn’t _feel_ right, the metal inside the building all out of sorts and not in the right place. There was something deeply, desperately wrong, and Erik put on speed, feet barely touching the ground until he arrived at the door and ripped it off the hinges. He ran inside to see Charles slumped over, motionless and pale in his chair. Hank had collapsed a few feet from Charles’ side, but he was starting to stir, making a weak noise.

“What happened?” Erik tore across the room to reach Charles, lifting his head and pressing a hand to his neck, searching desperately for a pulse. “Charles? Charles!”

“Something went wrong,” Hank wheezed, pushing himself onto his hands and knees on the floor. “Is he-” he said something else, but his words had been replaced by white noise, by the fact that there was utter stillness under Erik’s fingers, Charles’ head lolling backwards limply.

“Charles. _Charles!”_

Erik wasn’t completely sure if he was shouting in German or English, ordering Charles to wake up and breathe as he pulled him from the chair and started CPR. He commanded Hank to get the defibrillator that Charles had shown him a few weeks ago, his own hands already counting pushes down on Charles’ chest and tilting his head back, his lips breathing down into his lungs. Nothing existed except the counts, the movement, keeping everything going.

“Wake up,” he ordered as he pushed, the words hoarse and unsteady. “Wake up, Charles, right now. You need to wake up. No, you need to wake up, you need to stop this.”

Charles couldn’t die. Not here, not now. It was some sick cosmic joke-- they had _just_ gotten back together, he’d touched him just this morning, they hadn’t had any real time back yet at all. Shaw was looming and a constant threat, but it had been this _machine_ that took him down. 

“Charles. No, no, no. Charles. _Charles.”_ He had to breathe on his own. He was going to breathe any second now, going to wake up and look at Erik. He had to, because this was impossible, it couldn’t be real.

He had known this thing was dangerous, had known Charles was using it too much. He vented the feral fury and panic in his chest out on the surroundings, heard the metal screech, crunch, twist in on itself. Hank might have given a protest at that, but sound was still somewhat muddled and Hank’s hands were busy putting the defibrillator patches on Charles’ chest and _Charles still wasn’t breathing how could he not be breathing what had gone wrong_

Erik projected, hard, as he waited endless seconds for the machine to boot up and charge as he pressed down with the heels of his hands on Charles’ chest, blowing air into his lungs. _Don’t leave me don’t leave me stay with me Charles please I need you we all need you please just stay with me stay with us I love you we need you Hank will never forgive himself the kids will cry please stay with me I love you_

The thoughts weren’t fully formed, weren’t even coherent, but Charles had to hear him, Charles _always_ heard him, no matter where he was. If Erik called, Charles heard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Erik realized faintly that he’d never heard Hank cuss before, didn’t have time to care. “It’s been three minutes already-” 

Hank pulled Erik’s hands off Charles’ body, which bucked slightly as Hank pressed the shock button. The machine ordered for more CPR and Hank nodded to Erik to continue giving breaths.

Erik continued CPR as the machine continued beeping, continuing his litany of prayer and begging. _Please Charles please stay with me I need you I love you please stay with me, I need you don’t leave me goddammit!_ He couldn’t tell if he was speaking English or German, even perhaps Russian or French or Spanish. His grasp of language was fraying violently and it didn’t matter. Nothing did, because there was no heartbeat under his palms and that was the _only_ thing that mattered.

Hank pulled him back again as the machine shocked again, and Charles gave a small, hoarse noise, sucking in a breath as his fingers spasmed. Hank made a weak noise, gripping Erik’s arm, then lunged for a stethoscope as Erik gripped Charles’ hand, looking between them.

“He’s breathing, his heart’s going,” Hank reported quickly, listening with the scope.

Erik sagged forward, pressing his hands to Charles’ face. “Thank you, Hank.” _Charles? Can you hear us?_ Erik would ask what happened later, but right now it didn’t matter. Right now it only mattered that Charles was breathing again. 

Charles’ eyes opened slowly, lids heavy. He’d blown a blood vessel in one eye, and it brought vividly to mind the first time that Erik had gone to visit Twelve at night. He blinked at Erik, a sense of exhaustion flickering there in his eyes, and his eyebrows drew together slowly. 

“...rik?” He rasped out, and Hank let out a laugh of relief, reaching out to touch Charles’ cheek, perhaps to turn it and examine his eye. Charles focused suddenly, abruptly, snapping into awareness and all but clawing at Hank’s hands.

“What did you do?” Charles wheezed it, grabbing Hank’s wrists and shoving at him. “What the _hell_ did you do, why did you take me out?!” He sagged backwards, collapsing back into Erik’s chest, and Erik held him in place, locking his hands against his chest and staring at Hank in shock.

“Charles, you weren’t breathing!” Hank stared down at Charles in shock, breathing violently. “You weren’t breathing, holy shit. I think you went into cardiac arrest, we need to get you into a hospital--”

“No, I need to go back in, I need to see it again—“ he looked around clumsily, fingers struggling weakly to be free of Erik’s grasp. “I need to go back!”

“No you don’t,” Erik informed him, keeping his hold. “I need you to calm down and breathe, you need to stay calm. Hank helped save your life, Charles, your heart stopped. Relax. We need to get you medical help.” He was trying not to panic, trying to stay calm and think logically. Naturally, Charles would be out of sorts when he had literally had his heart stop. Charles needed medical attention, he needed to get somewhere safe where he could rest.

“I’m... absolutely fine, Henry is... overreacting.” He struggled with the words, crumpling more heavily against Erik. _It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life and it has answers to questions I’ve only begun to ask and I need to know what it is and why it was there it because it could be something, it could save them._ Charles’ thoughts were chaotic and disjointed, fragments that he almost certainly didn’t know were bleeding through his now paper-thin shields. 

Erik stared at him, trying to understand what on earth would elicit this kind of reaction and then kill you- because it _had_ tried to kill Charles, there was no question about it. He had never heard Charles’ thoughts so disorganized except in severe pain.

“Charles, I know that the EMTs can’t get to us here, but we need to get you to the hospital. I’m not versed in medical studies enough to handle this.” Hank was scrambling to his feet, clutching his head with a wince as he did so, and Charles went rigid in Erik’s arms, the memories that flooded the bond nearly overwhelming.

_The hospital, cold and white and sterile with beds made for examination and instruments made for cutting. Doctors with sympathetic faces and charts, the chagrin true in their thoughts as they told me that there was no chance I would walk again. Doctors skeptical but silent as they listened to Kurt explain that I had fallen down while practicing lacrosse. Shaw leaning over tables and asking me to lay down._

Erik flinched, unprepared for the onslaught of panicked thought and memory crashing against his mind from Charles, but kept his arms wrapped around the telepath, pressing his lips to Charles’ head. “It’s okay,” Erik began, somewhat hoarsely.

“He needs to-“ Hank began simultaneously.

“ _I’m not going to the hospital!”_ The panic, bordering on aggression, ripped the words out of Charles’ throat, but they didn’t echo on the mental plane as Erik had almost expected them to. Had he hit burnout? Erik could hear him, he couldn’t be. Perhaps he was just too deeply in his shields?

“You went into cardiac arrest,” Hank tried to insist, but the certainty in his tone was lessened, no doubt alarmed both by the severity of Charles’ emotions and by the way Charles was paper white, his body trembling.

“I won’t take you to a hospital,” Erik said gently, running his fingers down Charles’ arms, panic and fear making it hard to speak properly. “I know, Charles. It’s okay. You do need medical attention but I won’t take you to the hospital, I promise.” He squeezed Charles’ hands, an idea occurring to him, a person he could call. “I need you to try and breathe. I would never take you to a hospital, Charles. But I need you to stay here, stay with Hank. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He wasn’t prepared for Charles to cling, his fingers desperately grabbing at Erik’s like he was a life vest being pulled away from him in the middle of the ocean. _Don’t leave please don’t leave stay with me I can’t do it, don’t leave._ The thoughts were pitiful and whimpering against Erik’s mind, and he strongly suspected that these had, again, bled through unintentionally.

“Please,” was all Charles said out loud, perilously close to begging as he stared up at Erik. “Don’t.”

“Charles, we need to get you medical attention.” Hank caught his shoulders carefully. “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine, but cardiac arrest can have really serious after-effects. It’s a miracle you’re even conscious right now. Let Erik go get help.”

Charles took in a tiny breath and released Erik’s hands, dropping his to his lap. Erik stared down at him, then took his hands again, pressing his lips to his skin. He had never seen Charles so close to the edge, so delicate and vulnerable. “Okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Just… let me call someone.” He lifted his phone. “Hey,” he said when Azaezel answered. “I need Christopher. Can you bring him here?” 

“Yes.” The man sounded bored.

“Good.” Erik hung up, looking back down at Charles, unable to get the whimpering, begging sound of Charles’ voice out of his head. “I’m not going to leave you,” he said quietly, feeling the promise wind around him, the opposite of a trap. It wasn’t a cage, it wasn’t chains. It was a commitment. A commitment to someone who deserved loyalty and commitment more than anyone he’d ever met.

“‘M sorry.” His eyelids fluttered, his head lolling forward slightly as he slurred the words, and Hank looked around as Erik stroked his hair back gently.

“We should get him back inside the main house,” Hank murmured. 

Erik shook his head. “The kids will see, and they will freak out. And that will panic Charles. We need to wait.”

“Fine,” Hank agreed tensely, then gave Charles’ shoulder a gentle shake. “Hey. Hey. Charles, I need you to try to stay awake. I only have basic medical training, I’ve always been busy with engineering and chemistry. I don’t know if you’re allowed to sleep. Can you focus for me?”

“‘M focused,” Charles mumbled, nodding a little. Hank nodded, taking a deep breath, then,

“Can you keep talking? Can you tell me what was different this time? You’ve never had a reaction anywhere near this, there has to be something you did differently. What happened? A telepath, a threat, something that blocked or hurt you?”

“It wasn’t a threat!” And it was too sharp, too protective, pulling Charles out of his weary state to defend it. He winced, taking in a slow breath, going boneless against Erik again. “I… don’t… know what it was. A telepathic construction. Maybe a shield. It wouldn’t… have hurt me if I hadn’t… hadn’t gone in. I’m sorry, I’m not… thinking very clearly at the moment.”

“Lay back.” Erik carefully laid him down, checking for any other physical injuries that may have manifested, fingers skimming Charles’ skin. “How do you feel?” He kept his senses expanded, waiting to feel something new pop into existence, like a 1940s watch he’d given Azazel last year as a thank-you gift. “Hank, do we have blankets or mats out here so he’s not on the floor?” He paused, debating bringing Charles in, and cursed. “Charles, do you want to be here or in the house? Where will you be more comfortable to have strangers?” He looked between Charles and Hank.

“Strangers?” Charles stiffened, hand loosely catching Erik’s again. “You have to- are they driving in? People can’t... find us, they can’t walk up, it’s… hidden.”

“Here.” Hank held out a thin blanket and his own jacket. “Keep him here, he doesn’t like strangers in the mansion.”

“That’s fair.” He would ask about it later. Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ in a quick kiss and carefully put the blanket and jacket beneath him. “You’re not weak,” Erik said in his ear as he lifted him, savoring the feeling of Charles against him, breathing, even if his pulse wasn’t steady. “You’re not weak in the slightest, I’m just making sure you’re comfortable.” He settled him back down onto the blanket, then,

“They’re not driving. Azazel can find me as long as he wants to.” It was something that would make Erik _very_ nervous if he didn’t have good reason to trust the teleporter.

Hank took a deep breath, glancing around the room. “I only had seconds after he flatlined. Phones don’t work in here, so I threw some of the instruments- I hoped the metal might catch your attention. I was going to try to do CPR earlier and then it just— hit me.” His lips pressed together briefly in frustration and he moved quickly, beginning to hook Charles up to various monitors. Charles watched him through half-closed eyes, exhausted and oddly, faintly, suspicious. “I’m glad you came when you did. You sent for a medic?”

“I did.” Erik tapped Charles’ nose to make him look at him and gave him a smile, raising an eyebrow. “Hank did very well,” Erik informed him. “The metal would have caught my attention, you’re right- I felt his mind disconnect from mine, and that’s what alerted me. It would have been hard to miss. Charles, stay here and give me a minute to go get my coworkers when they arrive, alright?” He ran a hand gently up Charles’ arm soothingly. “Can you project anything at all, or would that hurt?”

Confusion on the pale, freckled face. “Haven’t been?” He asked blearily, a flicker of fright mingling with the confusion. “No… you’re right, I can’t… I don’t hear you.”

 _But I can hear you._ Erik blinked at him in confusion, then nodded slowly. Later, he’d ask later. Erik and Charles were connected in a strange way- maybe even though Charles was burnt out, he was still projecting on some level, at least to Erik. “Maybe not, you’re right. Okay, that’s okay. You projected hard enough to knock out Hank, so it must have been something. I’m sure you’re tired.”

There was a flicker of metal and Erik stood quickly. “I’ll be right back,” he promised; and ran out the door.

Azazel and Christopher stood in front of the mansion. Azazel was examining it with open contempt, while Christopher was occupied examining the basketball courts. Christopher looked around at his approach and waved a hand cheerfully.

“Hi, Max,” the boy said. “Who’s broken? Not you this time.”

“Hey.” Erik greeted Azazel, resting a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “If you need food or anything, we can set you up. Can you stay to take him back?”

“I suppose.” He eyed the manor speculatively, Russian voice brusque. “What are you up to, Eisenhardt? Does not look like your usual haunts.”

“It’s not.” Erik gripped his arm- Azazel had been a loyal associate through the years, helpful in Erik’s pursuit of Shaw for his own reasons, and he was glad to see him. “I need to take care of this, and then we can talk. Do you want to come in?”

“No.” It was short, but not personal. Azazel didn’t love being inside buildings in general— he preferred being able to see potential threats and teleportation points at all times. “I’ll wait here.” He studied Erik’s face, taking him in. “You look like hell,” he added bluntly.

Erik gave a short laugh. “I feel like hell,” he admitted. “But lately I have been better. Bad day. I’ll be back, thank you.” He dragged Christopher with him, who was looking up at the house in interest.

“Where’s this?”

“You’re here to heal Charles, a good friend of mine,” Erik said as he directed him toward the little round building. “We don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he needs help. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Cool. I need a house bussed,” Christopher mused, and Erik refrained from rolling his eyes only by the seriousness of the situation. 

Erik ignored the cluster of students in the window, watching the conversation happening in the yard with open concern and, in Angel’s case, aggression. He would talk to the kids when there was something to tell them, he assured himself distantly, and pulled Chris into the room. “Check him out,” Erik ordered, gesturing to Charles, and the impertinent boy grinned at the telepath, completely used to this treatment.

“Hi,” he said, waving. “I’m Chris. How are you?” He sat on the ground beside Charles, looking him over in interest.. “Can I touch your hands?”

“Erik, did you… kidnap a kid?” Charles blinked at Chris once, twice, clearly trying to identify his age and just as clearly forcing himself into a more aware state of mind.

Erik sighed. “Of course I didn’t. This is Christopher Muse, he’s a healer.”

“Mr. Eisenhardt and the others use me when they need help.” Chris shrugged. “I get paid good for it, so it’s alright. He promised to throw a bus through Jaime Lee’s house, so that’s enough for me for now. Can I touch your hands? There’s a game on.”

Erik refrained from rolling his eyes again. Half the time he used Christopher’s gifts, the boy wanted him to throw a bus into a house. He thought it was funny, for some reason. Erik could usually talk him down to a shed or onto another car.

Charles shot Erik a small frown, then, “Wait- how... does your... mutation work?” Each word was a marble, carefully polished and spoken into the world. “You don’t... take the injury on?” His eyebrows pulled together very slightly and there was the oddest memory attached to that in Charles’ mind, a flicker of green and screaming pain brushing against Erik’s awareness.

“Charles, is this really the time for science?” Hank stared down at him and Charles gave a slow, clumsy shake of his head as he tried to process.

“I could… go to a hospital. I would. If it would hurt him to heal me.” He focused on Erik, clearly trying clumsily to search his mind for the answer despite his burnout. He was just as clearly unable to do so.

Erik fought down the mingled sense of exasperation, frustration, and adoration with effort. Charles wouldn’t go to the hospital for himself, but he would go if it would hurt Chris to heal him. Of course he would.

 _I love you, you goddamn idiot,_ Erik thought in total exasperation, then, “Do you really think I would do that? You’d never let them touch you and it would waste precious time.”

“No, sir. My power isn’t really healin’ exactly, but it’s about fixing flows in the body. The flow of pain, life, energy, all that.” Chris grinned down at Charles. “It’s cool. I just take a little from here and a little from there and I charge up and then I can use it. You’re lucky I haven’t had to heal anybody lately,” he told Erik, who looked at him, pressing his lips into a thin line. Chris cleared his throat and reached out, holding out a hand. “It don’t hurt,” he said. “It’s cool.”

“Okay,” Charles finally conceded, and took his hand.

It was interesting to watch him heal from an outside perspective, as Erik had only ever been the recipient in his work with Chris. It was nearly like watching an electrocution, Charles arching up with a gasp and fingers spasming slightly as energy and sparks zipped along his skin. Chris released him and Erik relaxed, noting the flush in Charles’ cheeks and the focus back in his eyes. Hank relaxed, sagging to sit back against the wall.

Chris beamed at Charles, looking less energetic now than he had been, but no less cheerful for all of that. “Feel better? I’m sorry I can’t do the legs right now, that’s way more than I got.”

Erik stilled. Could he _do_ that? 

Charles’ answering smile faded somewhat at the words, and he shook his head. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Muse. I wouldn’t know how to walk on them anymore, anyhow.” He offered him a new smile, this one more genuine. “Thank you.”

Chris looked up at Charles, blinking. “Hey, it’s cool. It’s whatever you want, Mr. Professor. Just wanted to offer. I didn’t mean to be rude.” He glanced at Erik, clearly nervous and worried that he’d hurt Charles’ feelings. 

Charles’ shields must still be thin, Erik decided as he watched him. He could almost feel Charles sending the small waves of calm, clearly designed to be subtle enough to soothe his nerves without being obvious as to the cause. Then he realized that this action meant that Chris must have healed over Charles’ burnout as well, and had to suppress a smile. 

“You’re absolutely fine, Mr. Muse, I was only-“ he stopped himself, glancing back toward the house with concern. “Hank, if you could assure the others that I’m not dying and they’re expected to finish their assignments for Monday, I would appreciate that as well. I can debrief you on what happened a little later.”

“Of course.” Hank touched his shoulder, looking deliriously relieved at the degree of normalcy Charles had regained, and then slipped out the door. Erik searched Charles’ face, crouching next to Chris

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly. “I need to get him back, his mother will kill me, but I want to make sure you’re okay.” Now that Charles was better, he didn’t mind leaving for a minute and getting Christopher home. He’d ask Azazel back for drinks later.

“I’m fine,” Charles assured Erik, catching his wrist and giving it the briefest of squeezes. “Thank you for bringing him. Chris, thank you so much for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” he said cheerfully, and Erik stood, leading him out. Az looked up from his cigarette as they emerged from the mansion.

“You should take a break,” he said, tapping ash onto the grass. “I have a safehouse in Cuba. You could rest, _tovarishch.”_

Erik laughed a little. “I may take you up on that sometime, but right now I’d have to bring seven other people. I’ll call you, maybe tomorrow, and we can catch up. Thank you, Az.” He clasped his arm again. “I owe you one. I’ll buy you a drink or seven. Take him home?”

“ _Da,”_ he agreed, catching Chris’ arm. They were gone in a flash and Erik took in a deep breath, trying to breathe, then moved back to the Cerebro building, helping Charles sit up.

“Do you want me to carry you back, or do you want to be in your chair?” Erik brushed his hair out of his face, relieved to see the old focus back in his eyes.

“Considering how alarmed the kids are, I should probably wheel myself in.” He leaned into Erik’s hand, offering a warm smile. “Thank you for coming, Erik.”

Erik stroked his thumb along Charles’ jaw. “I’m just glad you’re all right. You scared the hell out of me.” He stood and lifted Charles carefully, setting him in the chair and ensuring it hadn’t accrued any damage in his panic, then stepped back as Charles started turning around to maneuver his way out.

“I really am sorry,” Charles apologized warmly, offering a smile, “I promise, next time-”

“Next time?” Erik’s voice was too harsh, he knew, the strength of his relief morphing into anger and incredulity. “Are you seriously fucking planning for the next time? Charles, you almost _died.”_

“What?” Charles blinked up at him, disconcerted and surprised, but, though Chris had healed the immediate after-effects of the cardiac arrest and had cured him of his burnout, he hadn’t healed everything. The dark circles were still in place, smeared like bruises beneath Charles’ eyes. He had lost ten to fifteen pounds since Erik had met him and Cerebro had been set up, and right now, his face still somewhat pale, the lost weight made him look impossibly fragile. “I don’t-” he began, but Erik cut him off.

“Something’s going on with you, Charles,” he said sharply. “You haven’t been yourself lately, and it’s getting worse. This is just the last straw. We need to talk about what’s going on.”

“Myself?” Charles echoed in surprise, his blue eyes still looking perplexed and almost innocent as he looked up at Erik. Erik shoved the images and memories at him impatiently, his temper snapping like an enraged wolf in his chest.

Charles, distracted and exhausted. Sleeping all the time, eating next to nothing, not completing or answering the sentences of others in that irritating way he always had. Charles, constantly working on Cerebro, his attention span smaller and smaller, losing to Erik three nights in a row at chess. Charles, slipping enough that even the kids were beginning to notice that something was wrong. Sean, catching Erik in the hallway to ask quietly and shakily if Charles was possibly sick. It had been getting worse for weeks, and then after Shaw, it had been almost nonstop.

Charles stared up at Erik, expression stricken, which gave Erik a sense of vicious satisfaction rather than any sort of sympathy. He’d gotten _through_ to him. “I haven’t been sure how to address it until today, but this is serious at this point.” Erik leaned into the anger, which was so much easier to feel than the terror and stress he’d been suffering the past twenty minutes. “ _What’s happening?”_

Charles avoided his eyes, staring at the manor, his hand catching at his elbow in an unconscious action. “There are... discoveries to be made with Cerebro, it’s pioneering in a completely new field and we have to find Shaw before he finds us again,” he said distantly, his voice far away. _Hank had to pull me out, do CPR, call for medical attention. Was it an overdose, then?_ The thoughts, quiet and horrified, bled through again, ringing softly against Erik’s ears, and it was enough to quiet some of the rage boiling in Erik’s chest. _Still an addict, just a different drug._

Erik flinched and struggled for a semblance of calm. He didn’t want to cause Charles pain, but this _needed_ to be talked about. “Charles, things are going too far, they’re not right. Hank said you’ve had problems before. You’re struggling to stay stable and the headaches are almost every day now. Don’t say it’s not true, I can tell. Today your _heart stopped._ Nothing is important enough to risk this.” He searched Charles’ face. “What do you find in there, that’s worth it?”

“Before, it was just…” _the high._ Charles bit the words back, went a different direction, even though Erik heard them. “It was the feeling, and the pain, and the discovery, and understanding just how whole and complete and complex our world is. Erik, I wish you could come in with me, I wish you could _see_ it. All those lives, intertwined. Mutants and humans, all blossoming and suffering and thriving in turns, and I can feel every single one of them. And it’s painful, of course it is, but it’s also almost divine, being able to see it all and touch it all.” He shook his head quickly. “It’s incredible. And after Shaw, I had a purpose in there. Finding him, finding his school. But then today…”

Charles licked his lips. “It _called_ to me, Erik. Almost like adamantium calls to you, I could feel it singing in my bones, I couldn’t stop myself from walking away from it. I don’t know what’s in the cave, but there’s _something_ there, something powerful. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it just feels like the answer to everything, and I have to see it again, I have to know what’s hiding inside and figure it out, it makes me feel-”

He stopped, looking down as he seemed to suddenly realize that he had been rubbing at his arm throughout the speech. He pulled his hand back as if stung, the fervent, earnest, manic energy shattering with the moment. “It’s… intense,” he finished finally, quietly, and Erik moved to kneel in front of him. He didn’t like standing above Charles when they had conversations like this.

“I love you,” Erik said quietly, searching Charles’ face. “I need you to be safe and healthy and right now, this thing is neither. You’ll have to wait until we fix it anyway. I… broke it a little.” Erik cleared his throat. 

“You broke it?” Charles nearly yelped the words, turning his head quickly to stare at the damaged machines around them.

Erik winced. “Hank did some of it,” he said, not looking at the damage. “I’m sorry, Charles, I didn’t mean to, really, but you weren’t… breathing. Things got messy.” His fingers tightened on Charles’. “I’ll help fix it.”

“No, it’s- it’s fine.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s fine, you don’t have to do that, I…” He took a deep breath, then looked down at Erik, resting his hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, searching Erik’s face. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it was that bad.” He shuddered. “I couldn’t tell, truly. I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t ever get like that again. I thought I’d recognize it, I thought…” His fingers curled into Erik’s shoulders, tightening a little. _I love you, Erik. I’m so sorry._

“It’s all right.” Erik rested his head against the telepath’s, closing his eyes. “It happens to the best of us. Obviously, since you’re the best of us.” He laughed and pressed his hand to Charles’ cheek. “Take a break. Rest, recover, focus on the kids. We all need you. I know what it’s like to find something that intoxicating, but we need you.” He smiled a little. “I’m not saying never again. I’m just saying right now it’s too much, and we need to back up. We’ll figure out what to do about Shaw another way, maybe Raven’s lead will pan out.”

He nodded, silent and shielding. “Okay,” he agreed quietly. “Backing up sounds fine.”

“Thank you, _liebe.”_ Erik pressed his lips to his and let out a breath, relaxing a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "Car Radio" by Twenty One Pilots.
> 
> Hey, we met Chris! Erik mentioned his healer way back in Chapter 2, but we luckily didn't need him until now. He's actually a character in the Marvelverse, very cool guy.
> 
> Also, props to Peter_Pansexual for pinning the addiction signs in Charles.


	15. How Many Miles: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles has a bit of a nervous breakdown, tries to make some bad decisions, and Erik handles it.

“Okay. We need to focus on you, first. Are you fully healed? Your vitals all look stable, it doesn’t look like you’re having any issues.” Hank glanced Charles over, studying the monitors that he’d set up in Charles’ study when Charles refused to go to the infirmary or lab.

“No, I’m completely fine,” Charles assured him. “Mr. Muse is fascinating. He manipulates health and energy and spreads it around, relocates it in order to repair nerves and connections. He even managed to cure the burnout. It’s absolutely incredible, I would love to talk to him about it at length at some point.”

“So would I,” Hank agreed, clearly interested in the mechanics of such an ability, then shook his head. “But why did it happen in the first place? Charles, you were fine. We were at thirty minutes and everything was stable, nothing was declining at all. And then you just dropped. It was like an electrical short, but there wasn’t anything wrong with the equipment.”

“No. There was something… there. On the mental plane.” The memory of the cave in the dark galaxy of the mental plane brought with it a sense of peace, a sense of longing, and he felt his head shake slowly, trying to drag it away.

An addict. He was still just an addict, after all this time, after all this work. He had thrown away a bottle of dilaudid, but he’d merely been able to because he replaced it with something else.

His self-loathing was complete and all-encompassing.

“It was a cave, a gigantic geode cavern of sorts, and it was the most beautiful thing.” Charles pictured it in its mind, the amethyst and obsidian edges glimmering in the wasteland of the dark mental plane, lit by far-away minds. “Something was inside it, but must have taken too long, I didn’t get to see it. I was just getting close when you pulled me out.” He tried to keep the reproach out of his voice— Hank hadn’t known what he was doing. If he could have seen what Charles had, if he had been there, he would have let him unravel its mystery.

“Pulling you out was performing CPR,” Hank informed Charles shortly, clearly hearing the tone in his voice. “For three minutes. The cave was a real place?”

“No, it was on the mental plane, it isn’t a location.” Charles shook his head quickly. “But it’s the mental plane, Hank, and yet it was there, and it wasn’t a mind, it was something else entirely. I don’t think it was dangerous, but…” Clearly he wasn’t the best judge of Cerebro-related things. Hank’s thoughts were following these same lines and he shook his head, cleaning his glasses off on his shirt.

“You don’t know that, Professor. You don’t have any idea what it is. It could be some kind of trap, it could close up behind you and you couldn’t get back to your body. Maybe you’d even die. Maybe that’s what happened, maybe that’s why it happened. You don’t know. You already went into cardiac arrest once by messing with that thing.”

Charles looked away, taking a deep breath. “I know. I’m going to take a break, but… it had answers in it. Answers to questions that haven’t ever even been asked, answers to questions that I never knew I needed to ask. It is _something,_ Henry. Something important.”

“Maybe we should find another telepath, someone who could link in with you over it.” Hank frowned in thought and Charles felt himself follow suit as his mind flickered through the telepaths he had met. Some weren’t strong enough to be able to channel Cerebro alongside him. Others could do so, but they were busy with their own lives and endeavors and wouldn’t care. Or they’d be far, far too interested in using the machine for their own purposes.

“I’ll think about it,” he allowed cautiously. “I’m not just going to go charging in again, I am _somewhat_ smarter than that. If I’m going to repeat this experiment, I know I need to be more careful. I need my shields up, and I need medical support on standby, if possible. And that will be… in a long time. I need to take a break for a while, and it needs to be repaired, anyhow.”

 _At the base of it, you’ll always be an addict, sugar._ The voice sounded like Emma’s, and Charles swallowed, trying to focus on the monitor in front of him rather than the memories of hunger for the next high, or of eagerness for his next trip into Cerebro, or the thought of Chris, so earnestly apologizing for his inability to fix what Shaw had broken so many years ago.

 _He was never yours, you piece of shit. You couldn’t keep him if you tried._ Shaw’s voice, tight and tense and filled with an incomparable rage as he dug the knife into Charles’ back, the pain more intense than anything Kurt had ever dreamt of. Charles looked away from the monitor sharply.

“I’ll be more careful,” he said, tightening his hands around the wheels of his chair. “I already promised Erik that I would. I know I haven’t been well as of late, and I’m sorry.” He hesitated for a moment, focusing back on Hank, then, “I’m… sorry also for raising my voice earlier, about the hospital. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for the CPR. I really do appreciate it— I don’t want to die.” He met Hank’s eyes and Hank smiled, relaxing a little.

“You’re welcome, Professor. And I understand.” He was mentally piecing together reasons why Charles wouldn’t like hospitals. He had the loss of Charles’ legs and recovery accurate, but of course he knew nothing of Kurt, of the drugs, or the details of Shaw. Hank squeezed Charles’ shoulder and unclipped the monitoring equipment, tucking it under his arm. He left the study and Charles leaned back in his chair slowly, dragging his hands down his face.

“God,” he breathed, resting a hand over his throat as he swallowed. Erik was downstairs somewhere. He could find his mind if he wanted to, check in and see exactly what he was telling the kids. But he didn’t want to, didn’t deserve to. They had been together for three days and Charles had already fucked it up, already self-sabotaged as spectacularly and efficiently as he did all things.

“Fuck!” He shoved at a pile of books beside him, but regretted it almost instantly, staring down at their scattered positions on the ground. Impotent anger burned quietly in him and he took in a slow breath, then began the awkward and fumbling process of picking them up off the ground around the chair. “Fuck,” he repeated quietly, setting them back in a neat stack atop his desk.

They hadn’t even had sex yet, and he’d already screwed things up. He gave a bleak, short bark of a laugh at that, at the concept that he’d screwed his life’s affairs rather than screwing Erik. _Gallows humor,_ he thought distantly, and then corrected himself. _Black comedy. I’m not dying, so it isn’t gallows humor…_

He reached out, taking a book from the stack and flicking through the pages numbly. The textbook he’d gotten and utilized to lecture Erik on the merits of Poe… he still had to grade the kids’ essays on _The Telltale Heart,_ he noted internally, dragging a hand through his hair. He was particularly interested to see what Darwin had written-- the boy had a brilliant mind for literature, rather than sciences or mathematics.

He should have graded it a week ago.

“Fuck,” he repeated a third time, simply for good measure, as he shut the book and set it aside. “I’ve made a mess of it now, haven’t I? A third chance, and one I told you I wouldn’t need, and I’m still batting zero.” He glanced briefly at Zasha’s smiling portrait, then looked up at the ceiling, running a hand down his face.

It was a mess. He was good at making messes, literal and figurative. He was good at taking care of the messes of others. He was _not_ as good at cleaning his own messes back up, however.

* * *

“Hello,” Charles murmured absently, feeling rather than seeing Erik emerge from the hallway to stand behind him. The kids had gone to bed. Charles hadn’t joined them for dinner, although all had, at some point, poked their head into his study to tell him goodnight. He wouldn’t ever deserve them, he knew, and the thought made him smile slightly. “The contractor wanted me to measure the space for the elevator. What do you think of it being here?”

“Hello.” Erik brushed his fingers along Charles’ shoulder, considering. “I think that might work well. It wouldn’t block anything, I don’t think. I’d have to go all the way upstairs to check, but I don’t think so. It would be easy to get to.” He snorted. “We will need to install a key system or they will fill it with Jello or piranhas or some other nonsense.”

“That would be deeply impressive,” Charles noted with a chuckle. “This is an exterior wall. We’ll have to do some remodeling here and there— on the second floor it opens into a bedroom, I believe… but it shouldn’t be too hard. And then I’ve given Hank permission to start building the jet, so he should be happy as a lark for the next few months. I’ll have to decrease security around here to allow for the package deliveries.” He felt himself frown at that, unease prickling along his spine.

“I meant to ask you about that earlier.” Erik leaned back against the wall beside him, looking down at him. “What did you do? Why can’t deliveries come here?”

“I have a constant perimeter running.” He tapped his temple absently, still processing the mechanics of the elevator and how much work it would take to excavate the ground necessary for it to reach the basement. “For… oh, just for the property line. Just short of the road itself. Anyone who comes looking for the house misses the turn. They get confused, turned around. They can’t see it, they start feeling sick, they suddenly have to go home. It changes depending on the person and how strong their will is to reach us. But no one can find us by accident or intention unless I allow them to.”

“That’s incredible, Charles.” Erik stared at him and he felt a reluctant smile cross his face at the praise. “And all the time you have this running? Constantly? That’s amazing. I had no idea that you could create a blanket like that- you’ve mentioned hiding people, but not an _estate.”_

“Well… yes,” Charles said, and he couldn’t tell if it was immodestly or modestly. He laughed. “Yes, it’s constant. As long as I’m in the state, anyway. I don’t know how long I could hold it if I travelled too terribly far. Teleporters can obviously get in, and those I’ve already approved— Logan and Moira, for example— have no issues. But if Moira’s coworkers were to try to spring a visit on us, they would be unable to. It was the only way I could think of to keep the students safe and anonymous, sheltered from the outside world without making them prisoners or asking them to act _human_ all the time.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Even if I hit burnout, the boundary is designed to act on my energy instead. However, I then am incapable of controlling it enough to make allowances and let people in. It’s the main drawback. Well. It could also probably drain me to death, but that’s highly unlikely.”

Erik stared down at him, then ran a hand down his face. “You are very lucky that you’re cute,” he informed Charles. “Or I would have to yell at you a lot more for the things you do.”

Charles chuckled softly and began wheeling down the hall, sure that Erik would follow if he wanted to continue talking. “I’ve only experienced burnout twice in my life, my friend. It’s safe, and it keeps them safe. That’s all that matters. But it will have to be lifted if we’re having _plane parts_ delivered here, and that’s going to be irritating. I suppose I could just pay more attention to it and monitor it on a visitor-by-visitor basis…” he stopped by the kitchen, picked up a roll, rolled it between his palms briefly.

Charles felt Erik relax slightly- he had been coming to chastise him for not eating. “You could, you’re right. I could always take them from the boundary to the manor… although there is plenty in a plane that isn’t metal, so I suppose that wouldn’t necessarily work. Enough of it is that I could lift it, if I needed to, but probably not piece by piece.” Erik walked over to the oven and started a kettle going.

“What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever lifted?” Charles asked somewhat whimsically, tearing his roll into tiny pieces and lining them along the countertop. “As a teenager, you harbored a dream of lifting a ship right out of the water. Did you ever do it?”

“No comment,” Erik said, eyes glittering, and Charles caught a strong image of what was clearly a military ship being turned upside down and held in the air. Charles stared at him. “I may or may not be aware that certain military vessels are made mostly out of metal.”

“ _Erik._ ” He didn’t attempt to keep the reproach from his tone and broke into a laugh at the unrepentant expression on the face of his… friend? Partner? Were they, still, after what he’d done? They certainly were not lovers, they hadn’t done anything of the sort for just shy of a decade. His laugh sobered somewhat and he turned, picking up one of the pieces of roll and eating it.

“I like Christopher,” he said, although the topic tread dangerously close to the one he was so carefully and quietly avoiding. “It’s nice to meet another healer. The one I knew was… well, she was absolutely lovely, too much so for her own good, but she was also so somber, and her gift was entirely different from his. She couldn’t help but take some of the emotional tolls as well, when she took the injuries on. It was nice to see a _happy_ healer.”

Erik snorted. “That child is insane. He enjoys his job, enjoys the praise and thanks, likes being helpful. Lucky for him, he can usually take from whatever he’s stored or the people around him, or the person themselves. On occasion he has to run low and it can be dangerous, but I’ve only seen that once.” He shook his head. “It just takes him a while to recover when that happens, though.”

Charles nodded. “That’s good. Tori was an excellent healer, but her gift was less to heal and more to halve. Maybe to third. She would take on part of the injury herself. She’d heal from it much more quickly than any normal human ever could, but it still _hurt._ She died taking on a woman’s cancer.” He took another piece of roll, swallowed it, looked at his knees. “She tried to heal my legs.”

“Did she?” Erik’s voice was interested, gentle, and Charles smiled slightly. They hadn’t discussed his legs, other than Erik asking here and there if he needed help with something. “That was kind of her.”

“It was. She succeeded and failed in turns. I can… feel them. It’s more than I had when I first woke.” He shot him a quick smile. “But the numbness was a mixed curse. I couldn’t feel them, but I also couldn’t feel the pain, the twinges, the various things that I do now. She couldn’t heal them enough for me to walk again— as I said, she more halved or thirded the injury than anything.” He brushed his finger over his thigh, focused on the odd sensation. It wasn’t _quite_ right, was just barely too sharp, the skin just barely too sensitive. He looked up at Erik with a smile. “But I’ve come to appreciate the pain over the numbness.”

Erik was considering this, checking the teapot as it came to a boil. “I did wonder, if you had any sensation at all. I remember the injury.” As always, Erik’s mind skirted the memory. It was a painful one for them both. “I’m sorry there's still pain, but it’s good you have some sensation, I would imagine. I’ve heard of people with spinal injuries harming themselves horribly with burns or the like because they didn’t feel the damage of the bowl or pan or when they slammed their foot in a door.”

“It’s very common,” Charles agreed, playing with another piece of the roll. “After I got clean, I went to some support groups. They were helpful.” He found his mind turning away from the topic, tired of it in a way too familiar to him. “Logan texted me. He’ll be visiting this week, for Alex’s birthday. I shudder to think what he’ll think is an appropriate present for an eighteen year-old.”

Erik smiled at the screaming teapot and poured out two mugs worth, dropping in tea bags. While Charles liked his tea steeped a normal amount, Erik left his in for a truly obscene amount of time. “Yes, the kids have told me about him, some. Sean is apparently convinced that you two have a torrid affair.” He grinned back at Charles. “Should I be concerned?”

“Sean is under the impression that I have my lovers in constant orbit, never meeting and always on their way.” Charles rolled his eyes and Erik laughed. “He thinks that you and Moira are also part of this arrangement. His brains are addled.” He stirred his mug briefly, then somewhat reluctantly, “‘Torrid’ and ‘affair’ aren’t quite the words I’d use anyway. He comes for a few days every few months, and then I don’t hear from him until it strikes his fancy to be somewhere like a home again.” 

He didn’t _really_ want to have this conversation, but he’d danced around it for a full month and a half at this point, and it was better to talk about it now than if Erik caught wind of something when Logan was actually _present._ Erik was absolutely protective, but Charles realized now that he didn’t quite know if he was possessive as well.

Probably not. Who would be possessive over a crippled, track-marked, foster father of five who couldn’t even restrain himself from getting mentally addicted to a goddamn machine?

“He is good to the kids though, and kind to me,” he added, moving his teabag around the cup. “You’ll like him.”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure.” Erik snorted into his cup. “Moira was all kittens over me as well. It’s fine, he can keep himself in line or I will tie him in pretzels and make a new weathervane to replace the one Alex killed last week.”

“Hmm. Yes, I _do_ need to set you up with that therapist friend, thank you for reminding me.” Charles laughed as he took a drink of his tea. “Moira was pleasant enough with you, it was _you_ who didn’t like or trust _her._ Of course, Logan’s nearly as grouchy and paranoid as you are, so it’s entirely possible that you will not, in fact, get along.” He sighed in contentment at his tea and took another sip.

Erik eyed him. “Charles, we aren’t going to get along because _I’m_ the one sleeping with you now-“ Charles choked on his tea here, and Erik continued, “-and that will make him, as you say, grouchy. It has nothing to do with my stunning personality. I don’t even scare _Sean_ anymore.”

“You still scare him, he just hides it,” Charles corrected him, wiping his face of tea. _We aren’t sleeping together,_ he pointed out in his mind. His mind, of course, immediately contradicted this and pointed out in return that they did, in fact, sleep in the same bed. “It’s going to be fine at any rate,” he said, setting his napkin aside. “He only ever sticks around for a few days.”

“Mm.” Erik watched him over his cup, leaning back against the counter. At this angle, he was all legs, and Charles caught the edge of a very familiar train of thought- Erik was watching his mouth with a smile, want and interest playing at the boundaries of his thoughts. “That’s fine. As long as he understands that things have shifted slightly.”

Slightly. The heat that had briefly prickled across Charles’ skin cooled again and he smiled at Erik to cover up the sensation, shaking his head. “I’ll send out an official memo, shall I? I can even hire a courier if you like. _Dear Logan, I will be unable to fuck you on Thursday. Situations have changed slightly. Try again later. Cordially, Charles Francis Xavier.”_ He laughed, unable not to, and took another drink. “Oh, wouldn’t that be a sight. On fancy card stock, too. He’d probably use it to light his cigar.” He chuckled again, burying the sound in his cup.

“That would be fine,” Erik agreed lightly, setting down his own cup and taking Charles’ out of his hand, moving forward. “Except you will, in fact, _not_ be available for Logan or anyone else later.” He leaned down, kissing Charles slowly, nipping at his lower lip. “Your middle name is truly atrocious,” he murmured, kissing along Charles’ jaw. “ _Francis._ I thought your parents loved you.”

“Only my father,” he replied somewhat flippantly, trying to cage the shiver that worked down his spine at the presence of Erik’s lips on his skin. Panic and shame warred with want and he took a deep breath, licking his lips. It felt like he was on the edge of a mental breakdown, the world shivering around him like shaking glass.

 _Still just an addict,_ he reminded himself. What if his next self-sabotage was worse? What if it hurt Erik, who had already shouldered too much pain in his short life? At least Logan _knew_ he was fucked up, Logan didn’t want or expect anything from him, Logan didn’t think that he was good and evolved when clearly he was doomed to keep making the same impossible mistakes over and over again no matter how far he thought he had come. It was the same intense terror as he’d had for the first month after finding Erik again— that Erik would realize just how broken he was.

The only difference was that _Charles_ now knew exactly how broken he was.

The shame and panic beat the want, slaughtered it, and he took a deep breath. “Erik, you don’t…” he couldn’t quite find the words to convey his meaning. That someone like Erik, someone so good and solid, shouldn’t touch someone so splintering and disgusting. That the person Erik wanted wasn’t real.

“I don’t what?” Erik’s lips traveled gently down his neck, and he pulled back a little to meet Charles’ eyes. He rested a hand on Charles’ knee as he settled on the chair in front of him. “What don’t I know, or want?”

 _Me._ “Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” he said instead, the words dull. He was almost surprised they even came out. They fell from his lips and onto the floor like stones. He wasn’t able to look at grey-green eyes, instead focusing blankly on the wall over Erik’s shoulder. The kids had spattered something on the wall. Perhaps spaghetti sauce. It looked like blood.

The world had stopped shivering and it felt like he was falling, just like his words.

Erik didn’t move his hand. “Okay,” he said gently. “So let’s back up. I’m sorry, I should have asked you.” Charles could hear Erik’s self-admonishment for reading the situation wrong, for jumping in too quickly, and shut his eyes, ground his teeth together. “At some point we should talk through this part. I know things are different for you now, and I don’t know what’s changed. I know what you used to like. I don’t know what you like or want now.”

“God _damn_ it, Erik,” Charles dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a tiny, impossible laugh. Was this what a nervous breakdown felt like? “It’s not _about_ you, it’s not about speed, it’s not— I’m handicapped, I’m not traumatized, I had my spine broken, I wasn’t assaulted, that’s not the _point._ I would _love_ to be able to be normal with you, I would love for you to be able to grab me, and kiss me, and make it so that I can’t process equations or Poe or worries or thoughts. I would _love_ for you to force me to let go of some of the control I maintain every goddamn _second_ of my day but it’s not about what I want, either.”

He focused on him now, frustrated and helpless. “I’m not good for you, Erik. I’m not whole, I’m not healthy, and for a _second_ I thought I might be, but that’s because I was so goddamn lost in the high of a _machine_ that I didn’t notice that I was barely here in the first place! It’s not right for someone like you to be stuck with someone like me, it’s not right and it’s not fair to you! At least Logan doesn’t think I’m _good_ or _special_ or _worth something,_ he knows that I’m just—“ he stopped, tried to take in a breath. “I’m not good for you,” he repeated finally, grinding out the words. “And that’s why I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you get more hung up on me or this relationship when you could be happy and healthy with someone who’s not broken.”

Erik gave a small smile. “I knew there was something,” he said quietly. “Something has been bothering you all evening.” He shook his head, keeping his hand on Charles’ knee and reaching up with the other to touch his face. “Charles, listen to me.” He waited for Charles to more or less meet his gaze, patient and calm.

Charles watched him for a moment, feeling oddly hollow. “I could help you go,” he said finally, voice distant. “You wouldn’t have to remember any of it. You could just move on.”

Erik nodded. “You could. I can understand why you would, even. I understand the impulse. But Charles, that’s where you’re wrong- that base impulse. You’re assuming I would be happier without you. I had time in the years since I lost you. I was with men, and women, and they were all unfulfilling. When I was in New York, I had opportunity that I didn’t pursue.”

“Because you remembered me,” Charles pointed out quietly. He was going to keep making excuses, keep trying to make this work, and Charles felt dim, nauseous horror somewhere in the background of his world at the idea of erasing Erik’s memories, removing this toxic relationship and sending him back out into the world fresh.

“Charles, I am happier sitting with you and playing chess or arguing about Gatsby or fighting about the children and discipline with you than I have ever been doing literally anything else.” Erik’s eyes flashed in anger. “You say you know who I am? You’re not so secretive either, Charles. You have done things in the past you’re ashamed of with dilaudid. You still have trauma from being abused as a child. You were traumatized by neglect, and by being kidnapped as a teenager. You lost yourself to Cerebro and the beauty and power of all those people and voices. _I understand that.”_ Erik squeezed his knee. “All I have done since I met you again is learn how empty my life truly was before you and them. I am _happy,_ Charles. Actually happy, for the first time in my adult life. You don’t want me to risk getting more hung up on this relationship?” He gave a short laugh. “Charles, I could not be ‘more hung up’ on you if I tried. I _love_ you. Not the idealized teenage version of you. Not some magical idea of you. _You._ You with problems and issues and yes, a handicap that I in fact am well aware of. And all I have done since we started properly dating again is realize how tragically doomed my other failed attempts at relationships were, and how good you are for me. Charles, without you I would still just be…” he waved a hand aimlessly. “Lost.”

Charles shut his eyes. So Erik could love him. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise. He had never met anyone with a capacity to love like Erik— so fiercely, so deeply, so all-encompassingly. Erik built everything he was around what he loved. He had built it around his mother, and had built his life of revenge around avenging that love. He had done the same for Charles, for Zasha, for Beck. Erik loved in the kind of way no one else did, a way that made murder and mayhem seem perfectly reasonable to keep what he loved safe or even just content.

No, it wasn’t at all surprising that Erik could overlook a few flaws about someone he loved.

“You deserve to be with someone better.” Charles opened his eyes, looking at Erik with a bone-deep ache. “I’m so sorry, Erik.” He raised his hand to his temple, a completely unconscious gesture, and Erik caught his hand hard, gripping it a little too tightly. The sharp movement startled Charles, broke his focus and scattered the threads of memory he had been about to bundle together.

“Absolutely not,” Erik snarled, eyes flashing in anger as his voice dropped, and Charles went still as he watched him. “My entire life people have made decisions for me, do you honestly think I’m going to let you do something that will make us _both_ miserable?” He glared at Charles, who was far too in awe of his anger for his own good. “Don’t you dare, Charles. Because you know what? At some point you’re going to look back at right now. Some day when you’ve healed more, when you’re not in the middle of a nervous breakdown or whatever the fuck this is, and when we’re old and wearing those ugly tweed jackets you like, you’re going to look back and thank god that I stopped you from doing the worst thing you could, both to yourself and to me. If I want to love you, if I want to be with you, that’s my goddamn choice. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

Charles swallowed, took a deep breath. “Erik, I’m trying to help you, I’m-“

“Shut the fuck up, Charles,” Erik growled, and leaned forward to kiss him hard, almost pulling on his hair as he leaned forward to get closer. Charles made a low noise, the remnants of his argument scattering with his thoughts, and moved up closer to him, winding his hand through his hair, his other hand gripping his shoulder. 

He had protests, he knew he did, but _want,_ it turned out, hadn’t quite been as slaughtered as he had thought, had instead been quite resurrected and was soundly beating logic and shame both because the dreams had never fully done any of it justice and _God,_ Erik felt so good and was holding him so tightly, as if Charles was both important and absolutely an idiot who he was still furious at, and for once he wasn’t in control of the situation. His thoughts were gone with that realization, his body more than pleased to have free reign for once, and he broke away from Erik for a moment with a gasp.

Erik looked back at him, eyes dark. “Unless _you_ stop wanting this, I don’t want to hear another word about it. Am I clear?” He locked eyes with Charles, the thread of an idea working its way through his thoughts, something involving _control,_ and Charles realized that he had projected that a little.

But it didn’t seem to bother Erik in the slightest. The opposite in fact, if the images flashing through his mind were any indicator. “Charles.” His voice was soft, but unmoveable. “Am I clear?”

“Yes.” Charles felt himself shudder, this time altogether more pleasantly, and anchored one hand loosely around Erik’s wrist, the hand of which was still around the back of Charles’ neck, his thumb stroking slowly over the hollow of Charles’ throat. “Yes, you’re clear.” He licked his lips slowly, a calm sort of heated contentment drifting across his skin, displacing the last of the anxieties that had rested there.

“Good.” Erik smiled, tilting his head, thinking about what Charles had said earlier; _I would love for you to force me to let go of some of the control I maintain every goddamn second of my day._

“I think I can work with that,” he said thoughtfully, dark eyes watching Charles. “I’m going to need you to promise me that no matter what, you tell me if you’re uncomfortable. This won’t work if you aren’t honest.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips along the sensitive area right below Charles’ throat, and Charles felt his breath catch there. “I can take care of you in any way you need,” he murmured. “You lead all the time, make all the choices, hold your power in check, _and_ keep me and everyone else in line. How exhausting that has to be.” He slid his fingers beneath Charles’ sweater, running his fingers along his overheated skin. “I can take it away, for a while. All you have to do is what I tell you to… and if something doesn’t feel good, you tell me. That’s it.”

Charles was barely aware of the hiss he released, his back arching slightly closer to Erik’s fingers. _I can do that,_ he agreed, not trusting his vocal cords. He almost opened his mouth to ask if Erik was sure he wanted this, then fought the urge back down. Erik had said not to protest unless he didn’t want it and he _did,_ and it hadn’t been a request.

“Good.” Erik lifted him, kissing him and carrying him down the hall and to their room, shutting the door behind them with a flick of his hand as he lowered Charles to the bed, pulling just far enough away that he could pull off his own shirt. The sweater that Charles had been wearing went after, along with his undershirt, leaving nothing between Charles’ skin and Erik’s mouth, which was exploring a few new small scars on his ribs, his fingers splayed out on Charles’ pale belly.

“ _Jesus,_ Erik.” Charles squirmed beneath him, his hands curling at Erik’s shoulders, and Erik laughed into his skin, then looked up and tilted his head, eyes brightening with an idea that Charles honestly didn’t even want to look for. For once, he’d rather be surprised.

“Put your arms above you,” Erik said, nipping at Charles’ forearm and then kissing the place he’d bitten gently. “How do you feel about restraints?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is from "Sloppy Seconds" by Watsky. Love the lyrics and the tune, it's been close to my heart for nearly six years now. (Also, if we ever go with song titles as chapter titles in the future, I'm so screwed. I'm using all my favorites right now.)
> 
> I think just about everyone who reads this one is also over in Playing House, but just in case any of you aren't, this is the same notes at the end of that update this week!
> 
> We vaguely exist over in the Tumblr-verse if you ever want to say hello! @goosenik and @Clarkestetler.
> 
> Also- we just started posting a Steve-Bucky fic, if any of y'all like Avengers. It's a college AU with heavy doses of fluff, because life is stressful and I just. can't. do it. So we whipped up some fluff to focus on instead. Take a look at it if you feel the inclination! If you're just Cherik fans, no fear. We're working extensively on a new fic with them in it right now- a sort of detective Dadneto fic!
> 
> Also, also: Thank you so much for your comments. Seriously. I love the sense of community there is in this fandom and in the comments section. I love connecting to you guys, I love writing for you and interacting with you. It's so much fun to be able to connect like this, and I just appreciate so much both my regular commenters and my new ones. Sometimes it takes me well over half an hour to sit and answer every single comment and I regret nothing, it's a great way to spend my time. Love love love you all.


	16. Walking on Wires and Powerlines: Erik, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemons for y'all, and then some time for them to unwind together before Alex's birthday party.

“Restraints?” Charles looked up at Erik, his face flushed and pink, lips swollen and slightly parted as he looked up at the taller man. His pupils were large, darkening his spectacular eyes, and Erik felt as if the slender man beneath him had literally reached into him and _squeezed._ “I don’t mind them at all. Do you…?” He tilted his head, searching for an answer in Erik’s mind or face, skimming his hands down Erik’s arms. Erik smiled slowly, knowing it was the sharklike smile he was so well known for.

“Yes,” he answered simply, knowing that they didn’t need to fully discuss it at this point, that there were better things to do with his mouth at the moment, _especially_ if Charles was okay with that much. “Stay put,” he commanded, looking up and down Charles, a wash of approval flashing through him. Flushed and warm, eyes dark, all his freckled, pale skin bare against the dark green silky sheets… Jesus Christ, Charles Xavier aroused and waiting obediently for him was the most erotic thing Erik Lensherr had seen in his entire fucking life. “Stay,” he repeated, leaning over and kissing Charles again simply because he could, and because if he didn’t touch him, Erik was going to go crazy. It took everything he had to straighten and leave the room, going to his own quickly to grab a small bottle and two ties.

He came back and smiled, tilting his head. Charles hadn’t moved, had listened and behaved. Erik walked back to the bed and nipped at Charles’ stomach and hip as he straddled him, carefully wrapping the ties around his lover’s wrists, _not_ tying knots. He’d learned the hard way what that did to delicate skin, and he wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

Charles shifted his weight slightly beneath him, watching him as his eyes flickered over Erik’s every movement in fascination. Erik smiled. His telepath was always so interested in everything Erik did, so curious about the movement and decisions of everyone. It was one of his most endearing traits.

He stretched Charles’ arms up above him, leaning down and kissing him slowly and warmly. Charles responded in kind, parting his lips without hesitation and deepening the kiss happily. Erik grinned as the metal in the headboard unraveled itself from the curls and filigree, reaching out to wrap themselves lovingly around Charles’ wrists, over the sleek fabric of the ties. Charles, who had never once failed to look delighted at any use of Erik’s power, looked enormously pleased.

“If I just used the metal, it would just rub your wrists raw, and I’m not having that,” Erik murmured, stroking a hand down Charles’ side and letting his nails scratch very lightly. He was rewarded by the younger man arching slightly into his touch, his eyes unfocusing slightly as he took in a sharp breath, his hands twisting a little out of reflex.

It was so strange, Erik reflected as he leaned down, kissing his way across Charles’ collarbone, to be here for real, _finally._ To be able to touch him, kiss him, love him, and not have to worry about Shaw or Emma hearing and hurting them, or knowing, somewhere, that the dream would end and he’d wake up alone and heartbroken. He could be with him, completely with him. “I love the sounds you make,” he murmured as Charles let out a needy whine when Erik’s fingers grazed his hips, his wrist touching Charles’ erection through his trousers. Erik purposely let his fingers travel lower, tracing his shape. “But a few of the kids are awake, liebe. I don’t know if they should hear that.”

Charles grumbled something obscene, breaking off when Erik kissed him slowly, laughing a little when his telepath nipped his lower lip. Heat flashed through Erik as his erection strained painfully at his jeans, but he ignored it for the moment, taking his time kissing down his lover’s body slowly. He paused to pay particular attention to Charles’ nipples, which were as sensitive as he remembered, judging by the soft and slightly strangled noises emanating from Charles’ throat.

“Shh,” Erik murmured against his neck, biting softly as his hand slid down further, unbuttoning Charles’ trousers and sliding his fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs, wrapping his fingers around Charles’ cock. He hmmed into Charles’ skin, pleased at the thick and heavy length in his hand.

Charles, for his part, was staying more or less quiet, his breathing harsh as Erik’s fingers moved up and down his erection, Erik’s teeth and tongue tracing the lines of his neck. Charles’ back arched as Erik’s hand moved, his arms pulling sharply at the metal binds. The connection between their minds was flooded with whimpers and cries, versions of Erik’s name that were more moans than anything, and Erik grinned as Charles pulled on the metal bindings again when Erik picked up the pace with the hand wrapped around him.

This was one of the reasons he’d used the ties to cover his lover’s wrists- metal binds, while fun, could cause horrific bruising when the one bound was as enthusiastic as Charles Xavier was. Erik was very pleased that Charles was just as responsive as he’d been when they had been teenagers, all blazing heat and need written over his entire being.

Erik hadn’t wanted sex for a long time after he had gotten free from Shaw and Hallow Hall. He’d focused himself on revenge and the hunt for his tormentor, denying himself everything else. He had masturbated a time or two to memories of Charles when his physical needs couldn’t be completely denied, after the dreams, things like that, but mostly he had simply refused to give in to anything his body wanted.

Eventually, he had accepted his need to move on, to find some way of blunting the sharp edges of his pain, spurred by one of the dreams he and Charles had unknowingly shared. At that point, realizing just how unhealthy it was to bury _everything,_ he had started looking for ways to sate himself without any risk of emotions getting in the way again.

Prostitutes had been one option. Visits to professional submissives had been another, more satisfying one. They could not and would not touch him until he gave them permission. They didn’t even have to make eye contact, and they expected and wanted nothing else. They wouldn’t expect Erik to call them again, to give them something he couldn’t give, something he was certain had died with the beautiful blue-eyed boy he’d loved so desperately.

This kind of thing allowed Erik to be fully and completely in control, something he had been desperately lacking throughout his entire life, and it had been incredibly useful as a way of gaining a semblance of peace, of putting his shattered psyche back together, and giving his body what it wanted without any strings.

Additionally, there was something just so _elegant_ about the way delicate wrists strained at the soft ropes or metal binds, twisting and turning while the submissive let out whimpers of pleasure, at the way Erik could quiet everything for a while and make the world make sense for a little bit.

But in the five years he had been dabbling in this, he had only ever been able to imagine Charles in this role. Every submissive he’d ever taken, he had chosen for the resemblance to him, and he’d always left unsatisfied on some level. So seeing him here now, truly present, safe and _his_ and bound up and eager, was so heady it was nearly intoxicating.

Erik loved the sounds Charles made in their heads, the way that he opened up their mental link the same way he had their first time so Erik could see and feel and know exactly what he was doing to Charles and how good it felt. Erik loved that biting and kissing down his teleapth’s body as he stroked his cock just a little faster made Charles arch up and made their connection ring with sensation and something almost like a shout of Erik’s name, pupils blown and a sheen of sweat breaking across his skin. It was beyond anything any other could have offered him, and Erik was more than elated.

But for all the waves of sensation and need that flowed between and through them mentally, Charles kept quiet aloud, and Erik grinned, biting at his lover’s shoulder. Charles whined mentally, pushing into his hand. “Good,” Erik purred, and Charles sighed happily as they kissed again, their tongues dancing for a long moment before Erik tilted Charles’ head up none too gently, kissing and nipping at his neck, at the soft spot beneath his jaw that was, in fact, still just as sensitive apparently as it had been when they’d been seventeen.

Charles was wonderfully obedient. No matter how bright the flame of sensation flooding through them both, he kept silent, his head tilting back into the pillows as his breathing picked up, arms pulling on the binds. Erik mapped the new scars his lover had gained in the last seven years with his fingers and mouth, murmuring just exactly how much he wanted his telepath as he explored the new sensitive places that made Charles cry out in his head.

He monitored Charles’ breathing as it hitched and sped up still further into less breaths and more gasps, and when Erik could feel liquid on his fingers, he moved back and pulled Charles’ trousers and briefs off completely, then removed his own pants and boxers with relief.

He stood back for a moment beside the bed, pausing for a moment to drink in the sight of Charles. Breathing hard, his freckled skin flushed and warm and little love bites here and there, the blue of his eyes just a ring around his pupils, arms tied up above his head as he was held in place by Erik’s power.

Erik grinned, tilting his head at the rush of pleasurable power that moved through him at the sight. “Do you have any idea what the fuck you look like right now?” he asked as he settled himself between Charles’ legs, running his hands up Charles’ body.

“If you don’t get a move on...” Charles murmured, leaving the threat unfinished as a rush of hunger and affection washed through the bond.

Erik laughed and pulled Charles’ legs apart further, applying lubricant to his fingers before sliding two into him. The connection practically sang and Erik grinned, lifting Charles’ hips and propping a pillow beneath him, not stopping the movement of his fingers as he delved in deeper.

His lover’s control of his silence was fraying, noises escaping from him with every movement and motion, and Erik laughed, noting how hard he was trying to stay quiet regardless. He joined a third finger to the two already inside Charles, watching the strain of Charles’ arms, the way his back arched, the shape of his mouth as he almost-silently moaned, his curls getting wilder and wilder with every motion. He leaned down, kissing the beautiful man as he spread his fingers inside him and picked up the pace. Charles whimpered his name and Erik laughed breathlessly.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I want you?” he breathed. “Charles, you are the most amazing thing I have ever seen and someone should take away all of your degrees if you genuinely think otherwise.” Charles let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp and Erik applied lube to his own erection, removing his fingers and pushing into his lover, a sharp exhale leaving him as he slid into place. Charles’ body shuddered and pulsed around him. “You are so fucking _hot,”_ Erik groaned, gripping Charles’ hips and moving roughly.

Charles moaned softly as they moved together, using his arms to gain enough leverage press back against Erik and bear down on him, and Erik laughed breathlessly, pressing his hands over the bindings.

“I’ll give you what you want, you’re going to bruise yourself,” he murmured into Charles’ ear, and he let out a whine. Erik bit his earlobe and sucked the place he’d bitten, moving his hips a little more sharply. “I know, _liebe._ I know. Trust me, and keep quiet. Hank’s going to come down the hall in a minute.” He could track the young mutant’s watch and he wasn’t interested in being interrupted.

Charles made a kind of breathless agreement, settling back against the bed, Erik started moving his hips in earnest, keeping his hands on Charles’ waist so they could get the right kind of friction, so he could hit just the right angle as he followed the shards of brightness that speared through the connection as Charles internally moaned and whimpered, but didn’t make a sound out loud, their heavy breathing and the sound of sweat-slicked skin on sweat-slicked skin the only sound in the room.

His lover was close, Erik noted in satisfaction, and Charles threw his head back into the pillows as Erik’s hips pounded into him, the metallokinetic whispering a litany of exactly how sexy and gorgeous he found Charles Xavier and all the things he wanted to do to him.

Watching Charles come was beautiful, Erik had discovered this when they were younger, and he was pleased to discover that it was the same now; Charles’ head fell back, his cry swallowed by the pillow as he turned his head, his body racked with shivers and shakes as it tightened around Erik, his mind fracturing into brightly colored splinters of light and ecstasy.

Erik followed him after, burying his face in Charles’ shoulder and letting the sensations wash through him, hot and scintillating in their intensity. He rode it out, nothing but amazement filling him at the fact that it had, in fact, been as good as he remembered.

* * *

Charles was quiet still, curled against Erik’s chest and drowsing against his skin. He was so animated normally, Erik reflected as he trailed his fingers through Charles’ hair. He was so animated and eager to conversate on everything under the sun, it was almost funny to see him so lax and content. Even when they were both exhausted and falling asleep, sometimes Charles would continue chattering until the point where he couldn’t anymore, literally falling asleep mid-lecture, his voice trailing off into mumbles and then silence as unconsciousness took him. It never failed to make Erik laugh.

Charles made a grumble of protest at that, sounding more than half-asleep, and Erik chuckled softly. “You need a trim,” he remarked quietly, tracing his fingers down Charles’ bare back, running his lips along Charles’ ear. “The hippie hair looks good on you, but it’s starting to surpass that.”

“Negligence over style,” Charles replied sleepily, clumsily tracing the chess tattoo on Erik’s chest with a delicate fingertip. “Don’t like barber shops.”

“You don’t like barber shops?” Erik considered this, kissing his hair. “Okay, that’s fine. You can go to a salon, or have someone come here. One of the children or Raven may know how to cut hair, too.” He spread his hand out along Charles’ back, relaxing a little more into the blankets as Charles gave a soft hum of acceptance to this plan. “Or is it the general ambiance you have issues with? Just so I know.”

Charles was apparently too close to sleep to bother opening his mouth, instead sending a flicker of images and meaning across their still-formed link. He didn’t like being in a foreign place with blades near his skin, Erik registered, and Charles gave a soft sigh of confirmation, breathing starting to even out.

 _Love you._ And this, too, was barely actual words even mentally, but images, flickers of Erik himself. Fingers picking up a chess piece, Erik’s head falling back slightly as he laughed, Erik’s hands on Charles’ during the first Cerebro session, a young Erik in a doorway on Charles’ first night in Hallow Hall. All suffused with intense warmth, with a sort of bone-deep belonging.

Erik smiled, closing his eyes and hugging Charles tightly against him. _And I love you,_ he whispered back, stroking Charles’ hair. _Sleep, I’ll be here._ He continued gently running his fingers through Charles’ hair and down his back as the telepath fully fell asleep, cuddled against him comfortably. Erik waited until he felt the link dissipate, returning to the usual thread that held between them rather than the full connection that Charles had twice now created in its place. He waited to feel the soft suffuse of sleep on the other end of the thread, and then let his thoughts wander freely.

There were several things to consider. Charles had admitted to his addiction with Cerebro, Charles had almost wiped Erik’s memory of them, and Charles wanted, or possibly needed, a dominant.

The easiest thing to consider and put to rest was definitely the issue of Charles having almost wiped Erik’s memory. It certainly hadn’t been a _good_ thing, in any way, but Erik could understand it, to a degree. Not to mention that after the heart attack- Jesus that had been _today,_ so much shit had happened- Charles was definitely not in a good mental space. He had been acting bizarrely, and Erik wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that his lover had been in the middle of a panic attack or mental breakdown after everything and had made a bad split-second decision. He hadn’t really been in his right mind, and he’d needed Erik to snap him out of it.

In addition, Charles was incredibly selfless and self-sacrificing- if he really and truly believed that he was _that_ worthless, _that_ much of a burden with the addiction problems and to an extent his handicap, Erik could see that he would make the logical decision to put Erik on a path where he could, in theory, be happier. He was wrong, of course, but it made a twisted sort of sense. It was the same kind of love and self-sacrifice that led women to leave their children on police doorsteps or hospitals- sometimes, the people you loved were in theory safer away from you.

To add to _all of that_ was the actual trauma that Charles had suffered. Raven had confirmed that Charles had been badly abused by his stepfather and neglected by his mother. He had then been kidnapped, hurt, and given back to a world that didn’t treat people with any kind of handicap with respect. His self-worth, beginning from the abuse and continuing now to the self-abuse, was most likely nil. Which was astounding, considering the man was an incredible person, but that was beside the point. No one saw themselves clearly, and Charles, apparently, had a vision of himself that was more skewed from reality than most.

So yes, thinking about it, it made sense that Charles would think that Erik would be happier away from him. He was wrong of course- he had no idea how lonely and empty Erik had been without him- but it was technically with the best of intentions and he simply possessed _far_ too much power for any one person. Charles needed to understand that he couldn’t always make choices for other people, even if it was in their best interest. If he _had_ succeeded in erasing Erik’s memories… His fingers felt slightly cold at the thought and he flattened his hand on Charles’ back, reassuring himself with the warmth there. 

His hand rose and fell with Charles’ breathing and he let out a breath of his own, pulling Charles a little closer against him. After the chaos of the day, it was still good to feel him breathing. His mind returned to those seconds in Cerebro on a loop, Charles’ body utterly still under his fingers. No pulse. No breath. Just a body, like so many he had seen and caused to fall into that state.

Maybe Charles sensed the anxiety. He moved closer still, tucking his head into Erik’s chest with a soft noise, and then fell asleep again. Erik’s fingers skimmed down his shoulder, his arm, brushed briefly over the track marks at the soft skin at the crook of his elbow.

He was struggling with addiction again.

Comparatively, it could be worse. At least it wasn’t a drug, and it wasn’t something that Charles could hide doing. In addition, Erik had very successfully destroyed parts of it in his rage and panic, so Charles’ ‘stash’ was effectively ‘flushed.’ But it had still almost killed him, and he hadn’t even seen the harm in it until Erik had yelled at him. He hadn’t seen any of his own red flags at all.

Erik had been worried for days about it, paying close attention to every little detail that Charles had missed. Even the children had noticed- Sean’s pale and shaky questioning came back to mind. Charles had needed to be stopped, had needed something to shock him out of it, because he hadn’t understood. He understood now, he knew how bad things had gotten, and while Charles had a lot of self-loathing about it, apparently, he had agreed to get better, to try to stay away from it. He at least knew it _was_ a problem, and that was a huge step in the recovery of any addict. Knowing that their addiction was real and it was a problem was the first step in trying to get better, so at least that was there now.

Erik would work with him. Keep an eye on him. Guide him back through. Charles had ‘gotten clean’ once, he could do so again. It made sense that that level of power and intensity could be addicting. It was understandable. But he would be present now. He wouldn’t let Charles be hurt again, not when he was around to stop it and keep him safe. Charles would listen to him.

Charles would listen to him.

This was, by far, the most _interesting_ of the thoughts to consider, he mused as his fingers trailed along the delicate bones at the back of Charles’ neck. He’d ordered him to eat this morning, gotten into his space, and Charles had. He’d ordered him to stop arguing about the memories, and Charles had. And, most enjoyably, what they had just done was evidence as well. He thought back and noted several instances throughout their relationship when Erik had actually taken control of a situation and Charles had allowed it with a smile, falling back under Erik’s decisions.

It made sense. Charles controlled an intense amount of power. He could hear all of New York City at any moment if he tried. There was even more power coming from Cerebro. Despite that, he kept a _fierce_ hold on all of that power, channeling it into other endeavors rather than ever letting himself free. He followed his own moral code, controlling what thoughts he did and didn’t hear. He maintained a constant _boundary line_ around the property to keep the estate safe. He monitored the kids to make sure none of them were hurt. He taught. He worked for the government (although that would be hard to do now, with the machine broken, and there was some petty satisfaction for Erik in that thought). Charles worked constantly and aggressively to keep everything in his life controlled and running smoothly.

It was no surprise that this backfired on him from time to time. 

Erik had been on both sides of power play at some point, but the first time he had been a sub where there was pain involved… well, he had been thrown out of the club and threatened with quite a lot of bodily harm if he came anywhere near them again. He hadn’t meant to destroy so much, but being tied down and then feeling pain had sent him straight into a PTSD episode. He actually hadn’t subbed again after that and had jumped bodily into the other side, deciding never again to allow anyone else control over him.

Additionally, he wasn’t interested in _giving_ pain when people were bound- that, too, called up his time with Shaw. But the control… ah, that was a very different story. Having complete obedience, being able to take away another person’s fears and worries and just gaining their absolute trust, was something Erik had always liked. He liked being someone people could depend on, liked being someone people could trust implicitly.

And with _Charles_ giving that kind of trust, giving that kind of control away to Erik… it had been beyond what Erik had ever experienced. And knowing that it was something that Charles _needed_ had been heady, to say the least. Charles was so self-disciplined normally, so controlled and self-contained, watching him able to truly let go and allow Erik to call the shots had been absolutely incredible and was definitely an experience that Erik wanted to repeat.

Being dominant came naturally to Erik. Honestly, the times he had played a submissive, just to see what it was like, he hadn’t really enjoyed it. It wasn’t in his nature to submit to anyone. And doing _this,_ ensuring that Charles was safe and happy, taking away his worries for a time, bringing them mutual pleasure and contentment… yes, that was something he could do.

Charles moved a little closer again, really just burrowing deeper against Erik as there wasn’t anywhere left to move, no space left between them, and he felt a swell of pure affection and love for the man beside him as he pulled him into his side and pushed his thoughts away, chasing sleep.

Yes, if Charles needed someone to step in and take away his stress and worry for a while, if he needed someone else to take the reins, Erik would be more than happy to do so.

* * *

A few days later, with Charles busy grading, Erik wandered throughout the house again, checking some of the rooms he hadn’t on the first night and simply hadn’t found time to return to. He glanced into the students’ rooms (every single one was messy) and into studies he hadn’t unlocked before, working his way up the mansion until finding himself standing again in Charles’ old room. He paused there, considering, then took the picture frames that he’d looked at what felt like years ago, tucking them under his arm. Charles may not want them anymore, but he could get rid of them, then. Charles may have just not wanted to inconvenience anyone by asking them to come up here and grab them, and he obviously couldn’t, not until the elevator was installed. Erik grabbed the books too, carefully tidying the room and gathering everything together that he thought Charles might want.

Erik turned and found Charles standing there, his hands in his pockets as he studied the room around them. “A projection,” he replied easily, seeing Erik’s surprise and waving a hand. “I’m sorry, I should have given you a tour ages ago. I forgot how messy it still was in here— are you _cleaning?”_ He looked at Erik with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“No,” Erik said with a laugh, “Although someone _should_ teach you how to clean. You haven’t had any personal development in that arena since you were a teenager.” He smiled at him, then shrugged. “I thought you might want some of these things, and you’re too British to ask someone to walk up here and get it, so you would probably just let it rot. I grabbed the photos, are there any books you’d want?”

He laughed. “You know, not _all_ British adhere to the stereotype. It’s not like you’re- well, you _are_ angry, but you don’t sit around in _lederhosen_ and drink beer all day.” He glanced around the room, his nose crinkling slightly in disdain as Erik snorted at the mental image of himself in _lederhosen._ “There’s nothing else I’d want, really. I’ve outgrown the clothes, I’ve no need for the essays.” He crossed the room and crouched, glancing under the bed. It was so surreal to see him walking, standing, moving around at just below Erik’s own height and so freely. “It was my childhood room, more than anything. I left for school when I was fifteen. Of course, I had to come back for a time after Shaw.” His voice cooled noticeably. “Kurt had me back in here for the semester, until Oxford assured him emphatically enough that they wouldn’t mind accommodating my disability.” He glanced around, crossing to look under his desk instead. “He thought it would take me down a peg to not be able to go downstairs...”

Erik’s mind flicked back to the conversation with Delaney. “Your stepfather wasn’t a good person. I’m sorry you had to deal with any of that. Raven didn’t tell me much, but she said enough.” And every so often, Charles would say something. “I’m surprised you’re comfortable in the house at all. Is it ever painful to be here?”

He paused to consider, his elbows resting on his knees for a moment. “It’s not really _painful,”_ he said after a moment. “I understand it more now than I did then, and that takes a lot of the sting away. Sometimes bad memories come up, but the ground floor is safe by now. It’s filled with new memories. It’s the other floors that are harder, the ones I haven’t really seen since I first lived here. Understanding more about why Kurt acted the way he did makes it easier. I didn’t understand as a kid.”

Erik pressed his lips into a thin line. “There’s no excuse for acting the way that he did. You were a child. There’s no excuse in the world.”

“No _excuse,”_ Charles agreed gently, smiling up at him. “But explanation, yes. I manifested very early, my friend. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t hear voices, which I’ve told you before, but it unnerved my mother. With hearing thoughts and memories came higher intelligence, advanced vocabulary, and an inability for others to lie to me. It was hard for her. My father accepted it well enough and tried to teach me about boundaries and mental consent. I… think he was a mutant, but he never really… he never said it, and he never thought clearly about it. I think he was something subtle. Perhaps an empath, that would certainly make sense. He died in an accident. He was trying to help someone and things got out of hand.” He shrugged a little.

_“Either way, he was gone. He and Kurt had worked together, and then my mother married Kurt. Cain came with him. And my new stepfather did not appreciate my ability to see into his head, to reply to thoughts he never vocalized. It’s a natural thing; many people fear telepaths. They assume we’ll take control, wipe their minds, take and use their secrets.” He waved a hand. “For Kurt, it fed his already-potent paranoia and gave him an excuse and an outlet to exacerbate his more violent tendencies. Likely, it is why I was as flippant with Shaw as I was.” He laughed at that, offering a smile up at Erik. “Shaw could do little to me that Kurt hadn’t already.”_

__

Erik nodded a little. That made sense- Charles had already been used to an authoritative male figure causing him pain. Shaw hadn’t scared Charles the way Shaw had scared Erik, when he had first gotten to Hallow Hall. “I’m sorry. What did your mother do? There’s no way that she didn’t notice the bruises, the broken arm.”

__

“Drink,” Charles offered cheerfully. “As her mother did before her, as she had always been taught to. She tuned it out, tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. I do think the arm bothered her, though. It was right after that when she finally gave permission for me to cross the pond and go to university. My father had gone to Oxford as well, and I had always wanted to follow in his footsteps, but Kurt had held the decision back for a while. She helped me get out of the house in the end, though objectively she should have done so far earlier.”

__

Erik caged the useless fury. His mother had passed away already, there was no point in exploding about her neglect, or making Charles dwell on it much more than was necessary. “That isn’t really a good excuse. You were her child, she should have taken care of you no matter what her state of inebriation was.” Erik shook his head and held out the photo of Charles and Raven. Being angry wasn’t going to change things- it was what it was. Maybe a change of topic was in order. “Raven’s your stepsister, then? Or your mother’s other child?” They had never mentioned it, had never gone into Charles’ family much, because Erik had always sensed that Charles didn’t want to talk about them. He knew generally it made Charles uncomfortable, but Charles loved Raven. That, at least, he shouldn’t mind talking about.

__

“Neither,” Charles replied easily, brightly, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the desk. “I adopted her. She broke into my kitchen and I realized what she was immediately. Her family had abandoned her- the color, and the eyes… they were religious and left her in the woods to die. She wandered to the house and broke into our kitchen.” He smiled at the memory, eyes soft. “So I kept her. It was the first time I ever actually _abused_ my ability. I persuaded Mother that it had been her idea, that she wanted another child. She signed the paperwork and legalized everything, and then I had her mostly forget about her. I kept Raven to a background hum in their minds- noticeable enough to be fed, housed, and clothed, but not so noticeable as to be spoken to or hit. I did it again when I left for Oxford- Mother suddenly decided that I should have company and arranged for a second plane ticket.”

__

__

Erik rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile, anyway. “The one time you do something immoral, and it’s to give a scared, sad little girl with no family a home. You honestly haven’t changed in your entire life, have you?” Erik grinned at him. Charles had protected her, _keeping her at a hum_ which probably meant he’d distracted his violent stepfather, taking any of the abuse that would have gone to her. It was the same kind of impulse that had led him to want to wipe Erik’s memory- protection and love and selflessness, absolute certainty that he was doing the right thing with just a touch of arrogance. “These pictures are cute,” Erik said, holding them out for him to see. “There’s a nice one of you when you were small in the office, below. I can grab it too, if you want.”

__

“It was my father’s.” His eyes crinkled a little.

__

Erik smiled. “You said he maybe was a mutant?” He sat across from Charles, interested in this family member that he had never really heard much about. “What was he like? I know you said he passed away. How old were you when it happened?” Trying to save someone else. Jesus, that impulse had come right down the paternal line, hadn’t it?

__

“Six.” His knees brushed Erik’s, and it was odd, the way Erik could _feel it,_ as if Charles really was sitting right there. Erik would have almost thought he’d pass through him like a ghost, but he could even feel Charles’ body heat. That was a _strong_ projection. “I don’t have a lot of memories of him, but I remember that he was kind and tried to help teach me about my gift. He would have taken Raven in, I think. Mother was always easily persuaded by him— he was very earnest with his affection. It was hard for anyone to resist that.”

__

“So he was exactly like you.” Erik smiled, tilting his head at him. “Kind, compassionate, affectionate, and utterly impossible to resist.”

__

Charles’ eyes crinkled. “I’ll never understand how you see me,” he informed him warmly, running a hand through his hair and brushing it back out of his eyes. “Not as long as I live.”

__

“I see you as you are.” Erik snorted. “Without all the anxiety and worry you have to filter yourself through. I’m sorry that your father passed away. I would have liked to meet him. Your mother and stepfather, are they both gone now?” It was said lightly, casually. _The Marko’s went missing,_ Delaney had said. The brother had shown back up, but no one had heard from the stepfather after. Had Raven killed him? Erik would go with her and hunt him down, if she wanted. That would be poetic- the two people who loved Charles most ending the person who had hurt him so badly.

__

“Kurt isn’t,” Charles admitted after a moment, flexing his foot against Erik’s, which sent another small shiver of how real and surreal the action was rippling through Erik. “He’s in Boston, last I checked.”

__

Erik felt violence rush through his senses at the sheer proximity of his newest target and settled it back down, nodding slowly. Boston, hm? Kurt Marko, rich asshole, shouldn’t be hard to find. He would probably wait until Raven got home- her anger hadn’t cooled with the years, he had noticed, and she would most likely be thrilled to assist. Erik rested a hand on Charles’ knee. “I see,” He said after a moment, and Charles arched an eyebrow at him.

__

“You’ve got that shark look again,” he noted.

__

Erik grinned at him. He had heard that on occasion, when especially violent, he reminded people of a shark. Erik didn’t have a problem with it- there was a reason people were afraid of sharks, and there was nothing wrong with that. “You can’t prove anything,” Erik informed him. “I didn't say anything.”

__

“I’m a telepath, Erik.” Charles grinned back at him. “And right now, I’m literally in your head.” He reached up, tracing his fingers across Erik’s cheek gently. “Leave him be. It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him. He doesn’t… he doesn’t even remember what he did. I took it all out.”

__

Erik frowned at him. “So he just _forgot_ and gets to live a nice, happy little life, not having to relive the fact that he beat a child? That’s shitty. You deserve better than that, Charles.”

__

“Erik.” He gave a small laugh, resting his hands on Erik’s forearms. “Love, it’s not quite that easy. He doesn’t remember who he is, either. I gave him total amnesia.” He winced slightly at the memory. “I thought that, maybe if he couldn’t remember some of his past that had cultivated those violent tendencies, maybe he could… live a better life. A kinder one.”

__

Erik considered this. “And did he? Become a better person? Start knitting sweaters for those ugly naked cats or something?”

__

Charles laughed, the sound warm and bright, and rested his forehead briefly against Erik’s, flattening his hands on Erik’s knees. “There’s enough death in the world,” he reminded Erik. “Don’t worry about him. Enough of your life has been about revenge, rather than it being about you. Don’t lose more of it to the same. Kurt does not knit sweaters for cats, but neither has he harmed anyone. And that’s enough.”

__

Erik sighed grumpily, leaning into him a little. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, wrapping his arms around Charles’ waist, still amazed at how strong the projection was. Maybe it was because they were so close physically, or because he was his anchor, or because of their clarified relationship and thought. Or it could simply be that Charles Xavier was the most powerful telepath Erik had ever even heard of. “If he comes here or crosses my path, I can’t guarantee I won’t go after him. But I won’t go looking for him.” Charles shouldn’t be so convincing, but he was beautifully convincing.

__

“He won’t come here.” Charles brushed his lips against the corner of Erik’s mouth, then pulled back reluctantly. “They’re almost ready for Alex’s party. Come down and join us?” An invitation, open for Erik to decline if he chose space. Charles had been careful with that since Erik had returned from New York, carefully creating boundaries and giving Erik the choice of crossing them or leaving them as they were.

__

“Oh god, a teenager’s birthday party. I couldn’t be more excited.” But he gave Charles a smile so he knew that it was a joke. He liked the kids, and they deserved the kind of fuss that Charles would absolutely make over them for a birthday. He stood and held out his hand to help Charles stand as well.

__

He grinned up at Erik easily. “Not real,” he reminded him, and vanished. It was somewhat disturbing, seeing him pop out of existence like that. There was no smoke or sound like with Azazel or the other teleporter Erik had met, because he wasn’t teleporting. Instead, he simply… ceased to exist, silently and immediately. 

__

It was disconcerting and Erik found himself moving quickly down the stairs with the photos in hand, seeking his lover out in the dining room. He stilled in the doorway, staring at the surroundings.

__

“Oh my god,” he said, unsure if he was awed or frightened by the sheer insanity of Charles Xavier let loose to give someone a birthday party. Charles was _normally_ a chaotic influence on his surroundings, but normally that influence was limited to cups of tea, papers, and various books. This was… much more. There were streamers and balloons everywhere, glitter covering a variety of surfaces, a three-tiered cake covered in so many sprinkles it looked like it had to have been rolled in them. Alex’s name was held aloft by a giant banner, _more_ balloons tied to its edges. Charles was surveying the chaos fondly, drumming his fingers on his chair.

__

__

“What do you think?” He cast over his shoulder, “Should we have gotten the mechanical bull?”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title this week is from "Powerful," by Major Lazer.
> 
> Unless we end up restructuring the ending somewhat, we only have TWO CHAPTERS LEFT. I cannot believe that. We've come so far in this story. Originally this series was one book, with both storylines being shorter. We workshopped this work nearly eight times total (and watch it turn into nine if we end up restructuring and padding the ending) and it shifted and grew and changed. Some of those changes were with reader input, and it has been such a fun experience writing a book for and with you guys.  
> This series was the first thing we published on AO3. We didn't know what to expect when we started releasing chapters, and we never hoped for such a good time. The series was originally supposed to have a third book, but we ended up scrapping the concept for the third. So, for now... we're almost to the end of this AU. We'll see if more chapters get added before it's all done with, but as of this moment, we only have two chapters left.
> 
> Thank y'all so much for bearing with us up till now. We appreciate it so much. We love love love you all, and that's not exaggeration.
> 
> As always, Clarke provided the lemons! Hope you liked them!


	17. I Used to Say I Wanna Die Before I’m Old: Charles, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex has his birthday party, Logan visits, and then the situation simmering with Sebastian Shaw comes to a boil.

“Mechanical bull? You wanted to get him a mechanical bull?” Charles could feel Erik’s eyes on him, his incredulity turning to laughter in seconds. “ _Mein gott,_ you are the most ridiculous man I have ever met. He’s going to love it.”

“Maybe,” Charles allowed mildly, surveying their surroundings. “It might be too much for him— it is a lot, which he isn’t used to. He may find it overwhelming. But he deserves a fuss, and I think he’ll like his gift, anyways. Angel and the others are bringing him over now.”

Erik pressed a kiss to the top of Charles’ head, and Charles looked up at him with a smile. “You are the best foster father these idiots could ever ask for. You did great.” Erik looked up and away as there was a commotion in the hall, then snorted. “You’d think you’d taken in elephants.” He chuckled and the kids came barreling in.

Alex stopped dead in the doorway, staring around at the decorations as his eyes widened. For a moment he looked almost lost, his mind a whirl of embarrassment and happiness and somewhere, an echo of the old fear that he wasn’t really wanted or needed anywhere. But this, he thought, looking around at the decorations, his name in huge letters and a cake and, Erik was probably right, far too many balloons… this was proof, in a way, that Alex _was_ wanted. He rubbed at his nose, pulling himself together remarkably quickly, very aware of the other kids beside him.

“Cool,” he said with a grin, looking around. “I was wanting a million balloons to stuff Hank’s room with, thanks Professor! And I can put the banner in there too, so he knows who did it.” He looked around again, some of the grin unsteadying as he surveyed the room while the others screeched about the cake. He had expected _something,_ maybe a cake or a balloon or two, just knowing Charles and knowing how much he cared about making them feel safe and wanted. But he hadn’t expected _this_ and he certainly hadn’t expected to feel this way about it.

Charles could hear in his mind, Alex running through things quickly to keep himself from crying or in some other way, in his mind, ‘making a fool out of himself.’ He walked over to Charles. “This is really cool, Professor,” he said, hands in his pockets and trying to act more nonchalant than he felt as Erik moved away to referee the others from stealing the entirety of Alex’s cake.

“I thought about getting you a mechanical bull, but I decided that you lot couldn’t be trusted to put it on a reasonable and safe level.” Charles smiled up at him. “Happy eighteenth, Alexander. I love you dearly.”

Alex looked away quickly, rubbing at his nose, trying to hide the way his eyes had gotten shiny suddenly. “Thank you.” His voice cracked a tiny bit and Charles noted Erik distracting the others with the ice cream as Alex leaned down a little, giving Charles a hug that was very tight, his thoughts nothing but happy embarrassment and affection for what he thought of as his little family. “Thank you,” he managed, then gave a watery laugh. “I’d probably tie Sean to it and set it on High and then he’d throw up.”

“My thinking exactly.” But there was only warmth in place of judgement or mockery, and Charles hugged him back. “Cake before presents,” he directed cheerfully, and Darwin ran over, pulling Alex over.

“Dude, Professor Eisenhardt won’t let us touch it until you eat it, so you need to eat.”

Alex grinned, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Well maybe I’m not hungry,” he said loftily. “And you’ll all have to just look at the cake and not eat it.” But he cut pieces for them anyway, laughing all the time.

After cake, Charles led them around to the garage, where a large and somewhat-battered cardboard box waited with a giant bow on top. The children’s thoughts were instantly shifting, calculating to themselves what could be in a box that size and, in Sean’s case, what the chances were that Charles had bought Alex a bazooka. Charles shot him a frown, then tossed a box cutter to Alex as Hank quietly argued with Sean about the logistics of a bazooka in the mansion. He could feel Erik’s mind, reaching out and analyzing the metal in the box in interest. He hadn’t actually reviewed with him what he was getting for Alex.

“Two things before you open it,” Charles stated lightly. “The first is that you are now eighteen, and thus an adult. If you wanted, you could leave the mansion. However, I do not expect you to, and would like you to remain at home for however long you like.” Alex looked at him in relief, relaxing, and Charles met his eyes for a moment. Alex had been worried about that, some, for the last week. Charles smiled, then continued, “And, if you endanger yourself or others with this gift, or act recklessly in any way, I will put a mental block in your mind so you will never be able to use one again.” He was serious, but made an effort to soften the words with a smile.

It was a bike, Charles felt Erik recognize from the shape seconds before Alex tore the box open. It wasn’t a surprise it had taken him so long to identify it-- the motorcycle was battered and antique, and had multiple pieces that just seemed to be missing.

“I thought you might enjoy restoring it, working with your hands when you’re stressed.” Charles considered, motioning to the multiple smaller boxes behind the big one, all of which contained new pieces. “Erik can help you with some of the metal work,” he added, cheerfully and shamelessly volunteering his lover for this task.

“Oh my _god,”_ Alex gasped, staring at it with the kind of awe most people reserved for religious artifacts. “ _Look at it.”_ He circled it and grinned at Angel. “I bet I could best you on this. Which wouldn’t be reckless, sir,” he added quickly. “Of course under the speed limit at all times. And helmets.” He stroked the handlebars lovingly.

Charles’ smile was incandescent. He could feel Erik laughing internally as the kids clustered around the vehicle to examine it, imagining Charles watching Alex tear away from the house on the bike the first time, as anxious as a mother on the first day of her child’s school year. “That was a good choice,” Erik said, appraising it. “It’s a nice bike. He will have a lot to do, and that will keep him out of trouble.”

“My thoughts precisely,” Chanrles agreed, taking in a deep breath. “I feel better about it now that I know how to contact a healer. Knowing that we can reach Christopher gives me an enormous amount of peace. Motorbikes really are…”

A low rumble distracted them and Charles looked around to see Logan’s bike roar down the lane. The kids yelled and cheered, waving, Alex using his handlebars to wave, almost bouncing in excitement. Hank, who had always liked Logan but was somewhat nervous about his gruff nature, gave a slightly more sedate wave at the back of the garage. Logan parked, running a hand through his windswept hair as he clambered off, and Charles felt a smile cross his face, unbidden.

It was good to feel his mind, so steady and familiar. It wasn’t quicksilver and flaring and brilliant like Erik’s, but instead low and lumbering like a bear’s might be. It was like pressing one’s hand against a massive cedar tree-- just intensely grounded energy, accompanied by a low undercurrent of affection and/or irritation at all times. Charles had never been able to _fully_ read Logan. He suspected that this was due to the adamantium skull, but they’d never really verified this. He could still read him some though, mostly the tenor of thoughts and feelings, and it was always soothing.

“Logan!” Sean shouted cheerfully, waving at him, and Logan waved back, taking a moment to light his cigar before crossing the green toward them. “You won’t believe what Alex got!” He yelled, and Logan snorted.

“Bet I will,” he called back on a grunt, and Charles grinned. He’d texted for bike recommendations a few weeks ago, asking about safety values and durability and the like. Logan had laughed at him extensively, then offered up some choices.

Erik’s thought processes, flickering and eye-catching like silver fish darting and jumping in a river, redirected Charles’ attention. _He’s so short,_ Erik critiqued. _And his hair is ridiculous._ Erik glanced at Charles and cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll play nice,” he grumbled. _Out loud anyway. Most of my sarcasm would probably go over his head._ More internal laughter and Charles fought down a grin, hard, as Erik continued assessing Logan’s jacket and jeans.

“Hey, he did all right,” Logan said, eyeing the broken-down bike. “It’s a piece of shit now, but once you clean it up and put it together, it’ll be good. Important to know how to put it together in case you break it, anyway.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex was still looking at the bike worshipfully, patting the seat. “She’s going to be _great._ I’m going to use Darwin as a helmet.”

“There are helmets,” Charles pointed out immediately, pointing at one of the boxes. “That you will wear at all times. Even Darwin.” He glanced up at Logan and offered a smile. “Good to see you, Logan. How was Canada?”

“Fine.” He shrugged. “Beat some people up, rolled around in the snow, hit a moose with a truck. Canada shit.” He eyed Erik as he pulled in a long drag of his cigarette, speculating his presence here, and Charles noted that now that Logan was this close, Erik was actually absorbed in examining Logan's skeleton in fascination. “What have you all been doing?”

“Celebrating Alex’s birthday, primarily. They’re on break from school.”

“Yeah, and Darwin crushed it with his essay,” Sean volunteered, stuffing a piece of cake into his mouth.

Charles shook his head with a smile. “Logan, this is Erik Eisenhardt. Yes, _that_ Erik. Apparently neither of us are as dead as we once thought. Erik, this is Logan. Yes, the metal covers his entire skeleton, and it’s adamantium.”

“I’ve never seen it _shaped,”_ Erik said in interest, his fingers itching to play with the metal. He hadn’t touched the adamantium in the room Charles had given him, merely examining it in wonder. He apparently wanted to save it for something, but this, shaped and polished and fitted to a person, was nothing like he had ever seen. “The sheer amount of things that could be done, the _uses_ for someone with an adamantium skeleton and a metallokinetic, I could-”

“Oh my god, you could make him do shit.” Alex stared at us, a piece of cake halfway to his mouth. “That’s so _cool._ I mean, not for you, sir.” He grinned at Logan, who frowned between them.

“Eat your cake,” he informed him, and looked back at Erik, looking him over. “Heard about you, yeah. If I were you, I’d keep your power to yourself.”

“Show him the claws!” Darwin called excitedly from around a mouthful of cake, and Erik began laughing internally at Logan’s expression, somewhere between exasperation at being treated like an exciting new toy since we now had a metallokinetic and amusement at the children’s antics.

“No one is going to make anyone do anything.” Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. “I could make you all moo like cows for three days, but I don’t. And why don’t we do that?”

“Because it’s _immoral,”_ Angel chirped, too sweetly, and Sean snickered. Charles laughed, dropping his hand.

“Correct. So Erik will not be using Logan as a mannequin, and Logan will not be slicing up the house to show off his claws. Now. Enjoy your bike, wreak havoc out here, but contain said havoc to the garage while we go in the house.”

“Havoc.” Alex’s eyes lit. “I’m gonna name my bike _Havoc. Havoc Wreaker. Havoc Bringer?”_ he looked at the others for help and they all picked one and began bickering immediately as the adults went into the house.

“Fools, the lot of them,” Logan informed Charles, but Charles could see the affection there. He did like the children, he just was even more independent than Erik had ever been and actively shied away from staying anywhere long.

“You love them,” he informed him cheerfully, and Logan gave a snort, hand coming to rest briefly on Charles’ shoulder.

Briefly because, almost immediately, it raised and tucked firmly against Logan’s side. Charles blinked at him, then looked around at Erik, who looked back at him calmly, then focused on Logan.

“I understand that Charles is more physically affectionate than many,” he told Logan, who frowned at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “And I would never have an issue with him expressing affection for his friends, in whatever way he feels necessary. But I’d like to be clear on that- you and Charles are now friendly only. I am aware that your relationship was different before I came back, but I’m back, and I’d like you to keep that in mind before you touch my partner again.” 

Logan stayed still for a long moment, watching him as he considered whether or not he should do something, then inclined his head. “Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he grumbled, and Erik smiled.

“What my undergarments are doing is really only Charles’ business now, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Charles muffled a laugh behind his hand and shook his head quickly when they looked at him. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, grinning. “You’re both just funny. Now that that lovely bit of awkwardness is out of the way… dinner?”

* * *

The days that followed were amusing, to say the least. Charles continued to keep his distance from Cerebro, throwing himself into work and training with the kids any time he felt the urge to go and ask Henry to fix the damage Erik had done. He successfully kept away, and Erik’s proud smile said multitudes about it.

The kids were thrilled to have Logan back. They swarmed him for training constantly, showed him their new moves, begged him to watch them fight each other and Erik, to assist with figuring out whatever else they needed to learn. They begged Erik and Logan to fight each other, but Erik maintained that it would be unfair, due to Logan’s metallic skeleton. Logan snapped and growled that he could win, but Charles could hear that he was, in fact, unsure about the outcome of a serious fight.

Charles made sure to attend every training session, simply because he didn’t fully trust Erik and Logan not to kill each other or the children. They pushed Sean off the roof to test his flight suit before Charles could stop them. Luckily, the suit was effective, but Charles had to pull the men aside for yet another safety lecture after.

They argued _constantly._ Logan believed that the children needed to understand the brutality of the world and they, as their mentors, should pull absolutely no punches. As long as no one died, he argued, it was fine. No lasting damage, they were fine. Logan had no idea how to soften and never tried to. Erik believed that there was a fine line between that and what he had dealt with in his life, and vehemently disagreed with many of Logan’s tactics, “accidentally” tossing him here or there when Erik felt that he’d been too hard with the children. He wanted them to be _prepared,_ Erik raged to Charles when they were alone, not _killed._ It didn’t seem to help that the very existence of each seemed to grate on the other’s nerves.

It also didn’t help that when Charles and Logan were alone, Logan seemed hell-bent on being an issue. Logan would hand him a book he couldn’t reach, or would offer him some beer, or put a hand on his shoulder, and Erik would appear, almost as if out of thin air, exuding animosity. Erik explained to Charles that it wasn’t that he cared if Charles’ friends touched him, it was that he suspected Logan was _purposely_ trying to piss him off, that he was letting his fingers linger too long.

Logan was harder to read in general due to the adamantium skull, but Charles was becoming increasingly certain that Erik was right and Logan was being more tactile solely to mess with Charles’ new lover.

Most nights when they went to bed, Charles listened to Erik rant about Logan’s “idiocy” and “recklessness.” Charles tried very hard not to laugh, seeing as it was, in fact, Erik who had encouraged Sean to leap off the roof. Erik often referred to his new adversary as _that short fuck,_ which successfully made Charles laugh endlessly, even when he tried to stop himself.

When Charles was alone with Logan, Logan often grunted insults about how uptight Erik was, his thoughts ticking over his annoyance at how the kids liked Erik regardless of how “stuffy” the metallokinetic was. Logan also reported that Erik was pretending that he _accidentally_ flicked Logan into walls, which of course Charles knew couldn’t possibly be an accident. Erik was not _always_ in complete control of his gift- during some of the worst arguments with Logan, Charles had listened to the forks and knives in the kitchen curling in on themselves- but he also wouldn’t accidentally throw another person into a wall.

Erik, when Charles questioned him, informed him that Logan was exaggerating and that he’d accidentally tripped him once. His mind was calm and orderly enough that Charles was certain his lover was lying. As they hadn’t actually attacked each other, Charles left it as it was.

He distracted Erik at night, exploring their newly physical relationship quite happily. It anchored Charles’ wandering, still somewhat scattered mind and reassured his frayed confidence, and Erik seemed to understand this without Charles having to explain it.

They were just as good together as they had ever been when they were younger. Erik was incredibly good at taking control, at keeping Charles from having to think and dissolving his worries and concerns. And even though they opened the strange link that had formed between them every time, Charles found nothing in Erik that he had feared. No matter how deeply he sank into the connection, he found nothing even slightly resembling resentment or unhappiness, nothing even close to revulsion. In fact, he found the exact opposite.

It was everything he’d once hoped for when they were young and frightened, stealing moments of happiness in the Hall.

* * *

“Erik.” Charles rested his chin on his lover’s chest, looking up into green-grey eyes. “I have a funny question for you.”

Erik snorted and ran a hand through Charles’ hair. “Ask me, then.”

He propped himself up onto his elbow, looking down at him curiously. “Rosh Hashanah is next month. I know you don’t exactly practice anymore, but did you want to do anything for it? There are some lovely synagogues in New York you could visit.”

He blinked, then considered, resting a hand on Charles’ back. “I… I don’t know. I lost my faith when I was young, and I haven’t thought about it much. My mother would be so disappointed in me.” He laughed a little. “I suppose it wouldn’t be terrible, to go. I wouldn’t even know what to do anymore.”

“I just thought I’d offer.” Charles shrugged, leaning down and pressing his lips to Erik’s chest and kissing across his pectoral muscle. “So he’s been here a week now. What do you think of Logan’s skeleton, now that you’ve had time to look at it? The adamantium is beautiful to see through your mind. I didn’t know it sang like that.”

“It does,” he agreed, closing his eyes with a smile and humming contentedly as Charles kissed his skin. “It’s truly incredible, and so strange. You can feel the metal moving, but it isn’t metal moving due to machinery or being carried in a pocket or hand, and it’s adamantium to boot, which is just so fascinating. I’ve never seen finished adamantium- the stuff I have is raw, which is better in a lot of ways, but when it sings... it’s much more pure when it’s finished, you can really hear it. It’s so different.”

Charles smiled against Erik’s skin. “I love listening to you talking about your gift. I love watching you use it, too. You’re like an artist.” He pulled away reluctantly and sat up, running a hand through his hair and looking around the room sleepily for his shirt. “They’re not quite awake yet upstairs.”

“An artist?” Erik laughed a little. “I don’t know about that, but thank you.” 

Charles pulled his shirt on, offering Erik a smile. “Chris is supposed to come over today to play video games with the boys and Angel.”

“Is he?” Erik smiled, stretching. He was pleased, Charles saw- he liked the boy and enjoyed having him around. “How is he getting here? I do want you to meet Az, at some point. I think you’d like him, actually.”

“Oh, I keyed them both in to the boundary line once he healed my burnout.” Charles waved a hand and pulled his chair over, swinging himself into it carefully. “Not that the teleporter needs it to get in, grant you, but now they can. I thought he might get along with the students, so I sent him a message. They’d probably enjoy seeing someone new from time to time.”

“That might be a good idea,” Erik agreed, watching Charles with a smile. “You’re doing better,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see. You’re putting weight back on, sleeping better. I’m glad.” Erik sat up, stretching. “I agree that it’s a good idea to have him here. It’s hard for Chris to keep himself reined in, and so he doesn’t have many friends now.”

“Hard to imagine,” Charles reflected, taking a moment to admire the ripple of Erik’s muscles when he stretched like that. “I-” He stopped, suddenly and intensely aware of something pushing at the boundary lines of the property. “Get the kids in the basement,” he breathed, cold burning across his skin. “With Logan.”

“What is it?” Erik stood, pulling on clothing quickly. “What’s here?”

“Shaw,” he said, and Erik’s mind immediately snapped back to the warlike mode Charles had only seen twice before, when Moira was about to pull a gun on him and when Charles had choked out that there was danger to the children at the mall. Everything was black and white in Erik’s mind, survival and protection the only two things there.

“The children need to be downstairs and headed to the Jeep,” he said, focusing inward. “We can use Logan, and I’ll need you somewhere to help monitor. Where is he? Who does he have with him?”

“He’s just now awake, he’s in the kitchen. Erik, there’s no way in hell that I’m leaving you alone with Shaw.” He raised his fingers to his temple, focusing. “ _ **Kids, wake up and go into the infirmary in the basement. Now.”**_ He pressed urgent compulsion behind the words and felt sleeping minds snap awake, clambering to unsteady feet and walking before they even had time to register why.

 _Professor?_ Hank was obeying the order as well, was sleepily confused.

 _“Shaw is here. **Stay in the infirmary with the students.”**_ Charles sent the message to Hank and Logan both, and Erik pulled on his boots. Charles hated that he had had to compulse them so often recently, but it was about protection. Shaw could destroy any of them in moments.

“We can use Logan. Not Hank or the children, but we can use Logan, he’s an adult and he’s powerful.” Erik had reluctantly admitted to Charles once that Logan was surprisingly good, and his mind was ticking away at the moves that Logan could use to protect them now. “We need to have every advantage we can.”

“As of now, Shaw’s still trying to push through the boundary line. He shouldn’t be able to get any backup in with him unless they can teleport, but we already know he has a teleporter somewhere. I don’t feel Emma yet.” Charles wheeled out of the room, down the hall quickly, hating that he wasn’t able to sprint.

Erik flew down the stairs and yanked Logan back up from where he was standing on the second step, clearly fighting the compulsion to go downstairs. “Let’s go, make yourself useful,” he said, propelling him forward with a hand.

“He can help protect them,” Charles pointed out, then hissed, doubling over and gripping the wheels of his chair as pain erupted across his body, firecrackers set aflame under his skin. Erik knelt quickly, touching Charles’ chest, and he shook his head. “ _Fuck,_ he got past the boundary line. He’s alone though, Emma’s not with him.” Charles ground his teeth together, riding out the pain, finding the mind of the teleporter who had appeared and taken Shaw across the property line. He reached out, gripping the mind. _**Sleep,**_ he ordered, and he glimpsed Shaw continuing onward through her eyes as she dropped, apparently utterly unconcerned that his comrade had just been felled. “He’s walking this way. No metal on him, I’d imagine. The teleporter is down, the rest of the people won’t be able to get in without her.” There was a small group outside the bubble, people who were supposed to have come in with them, but without a teleporter they were stuck outside.

“Good. And of course, he’s not stupid enough to carry metal.” Erik hesitated, then nodded up at Logan. “Go take care of the children,” he agreed, and Logan shook his head.

“ _You_ take care of them, I’m going to-”

“Charles,” Erik snapped, looking at him. “He’s not listening.”

Charles stared at him, panic and morals waging war against each other, and then he turned to look at Logan. Compulsing their crazy, impulsive, beautiful children was different. They were children and under his care, and he was trying to keep them safe. Logan was an adult.

“Logan, I don’t want to make you go.” Charles caught his arms. “But we need those kids to be safe. Go to the basement. There’s a bomb shelter there, and a tunnel hidden in the corner of the bomb shelter. It takes you out of the property and there’s a shed there with a vehicle. Can you get them out?”

Logan looked down at him, concerned and angry, then, “Xavier, if you get your ass killed, I am _not_ going to babysit your children.” He stepped back. “I’ll get them out, but I could help you, more.”

“I know. But you know how to survive and you can run with them. I can’t, and Erik couldn’t be convinced to leave Shaw even if I compelled him to do so.” He would probably break his mind struggling against the order. Charles released Logan. “Thank you, Logan. As soon as this is over, I’ll call for you and let you know it’s safe. Go quickly.”

Logan looked between them, then gritted his teeth. “Don’t make me listen to those brats cry,” he growled, and stormed downstairs. Erik looked at Charles, searching his face.

“I don’t want you in danger. I know you can handle yourself, but I still don’t want you there, near him.”

“He broke my life and my spine, Erik. You don’t get to decide if I’m there or not.” Charles didn’t look at him, instead examining their surroundings. He didn’t particularly want to fight inside their home, but it would offer a tactical advantage to Erik’s metal senses, much more so than being outdoors would. “I don’t think his mutation is what shields him from me, but I can’t be sure.”

Erik moved to the end of the hallway, pushing at the doors of his storage room, and he waved his hands, the bars and chunks and small pieces of metal flying toward him and hanging in a cloud. Charles was surprised at how much that simple thing helped make Erik’s mind calm and focus. “How far away is he?”

“Almost here.” He took a deep breath, eyes locked on the door.

Mere seconds passed before Sebastian Shaw walked through the door. Casually, calmly, in a grey suit with slicked-back hair and an expression of paternal friendliness on his face. “Hello, boys,” he greeted them warmly. Shaw’s eyes found Erik, taking him in slowly. “I’ve gotten your little calling cards over the past seven years, of course, and there was the mall visit… but it’s not quite the same as _really_ spending _time_ together in person, is it?”

Erik didn’t move. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near us- you have no right.”

“No right?” Shaw laid a hand over his chest, looking hurt, and Charles tracked the motion, _very_ aware of Shaw’s hands and how dangerous they could be if he decided to use his ability. “Erik, I’m wounded. I created you. The glorious life you have lived, the achievements you have reached… Turning over that frigate, for example, was incredibly impressive. I’m proud of you, Erik.”

 _Beautiful monster._ The voice was Shaw’s, a memory in Erik’s head. The feel of it was a thought that had come to him again and again, something he had told himself and called himself over and over. Erik had never said that, had never mentioned or really thought about it when Charles had been around, and his expression was calm and even now, despite the quiet ripples the memory caused. He thought he was a beautiful monster?

Charles pressed on the black hole that existed where Shaw’s mind should be, pressing at the edges, trying to uncover the star that had to be hiding within somewhere. This wasn’t his mutation, it didn’t make any sense that he could block him, it wasn’t possible. It had to be a shield, and thus there had to be some way around it or through it. No shield was perfect, there was a crack no matter how strong you were.

“I don’t want you to be proud of me. There’s nothing to be proud of. Why are you here?” Erik flicked a finger and one of the bars lunged forward, spearing toward Shaw.

Shaw raised a hand, deflected the bar as easily as if it were a pool noodle. His hand turned, catching it, and it melted, dripping to the floor in a molten puddle. “To reclaim what’s mine,” Shaw sighed, straightening his jacket, and Charles stilled, finding the edge of the black hole again.

What if it wasn’t a shield in entirety? What if it was just a mask? Emma was more than clever enough to design something like that and teach Shaw how to use it. It would explain how his mind was _present_ as the black hole rather than entirely gone.

But that meant the only way to his mind was _through_ the mask, and it didn’t look entirely permeable. Charles wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out if he sank into that darkness. Shaw took slow, measured steps toward Erik and Charles met his lover’s eyes.

_Keep him distracted? I think I can get in, I think I can hold him._

_Whatever he does, don’t get distracted. We need to end this now, or he will kill the kids._ Erik looked back at him steadily. _It doesn’t matter what he does, you need to keep trying to get in._ He focused back on Shaw, stepping away from Charles slightly. “There’s nothing here that belongs to you. In fact, nothing here actually _ever_ belonged to you. All you did was steal children and torture them.”

“And didn’t you ever wonder what purpose I had for such a thing?” He reached out, trailing his fingers along Erik’s shoulder, and Charles wasn’t prepared for the rush of rage, for the violence that suddenly boiled in his blood as Erik’s expression and mind both flattened and blanked, as if he had experienced this before, as if Shaw touching him that way was normal. Charles bit back the command on the tip of his tongue, pressing experimentally into the void of Shaw’s mind. It was freezing and frightening, like sticking a limb into cold black water. He swallowed, pressing in further.

“Erik, you know I was right,” Shaw said softly, gently, as he circled Erik. “I made you into something amazing. Something that can change the progress of this world. You know that the humans will never accept us, that they will hunt us to extinction if they have the chance. Our people’s only chance to grow and flourish is to have no competition. A world of mutants. No hiding. No fear. Just freedom.”

“You’re right,” Erik agreed quietly. “There is a very good chance that is exactly what will happen.” Two more pieces of metal flew forward, trying to stab him or wrap around him, the molten puddle on the ground reaching up to grab at his ankles, and Shaw tapped Erik’s shoulder a little more firmly. The explosion was enough to send Erik smashing back into the wall.

“Erik!” Charles gripped the wheels of his chair and Shaw laughed, almost _enjoying_ this game… and then Charles realized suddenly, furiously, that he _was_ enjoying it, that was exactly right, and Charles could _feel_ that enjoyment.

It was working, he was getting through.

Shaw laughed at Erik as Charles further submerged himself into the mind, his own body a distant thread, numbed by the icy water of the mind he was sinking into by degrees. “Oh, my dear Two, I have _missed_ you,” Shaw sighed contentedly as he crossed to stand in front of Erik, who struggled to his feet. “I admit, I was a little hurt when you found the cripple again and stopped looking for me. Are you so fickle, my beast?”

 _It’s working,_ Charles tried to tell Erik, but the world around him was shrouded and dark and he was so close to being fully submerged that he couldn’t tell if the thought projected or not.

“I had more important things on my mind.” Erik’s voice sounded strange, buried this deep in Shaw’s shields. Charles was distantly aware of Erik rising to his feet again. “Charles is doing his damndest to show me that everything you taught me is wrong. I’ve seen schools, Shaw. Schools where the children are safe, and encouraged, and they’re unbelievably powerful. Mutants whose powers _aren’t_ fueled by pain and grief.”

“Oh, _Charles_ is teaching you?” His voice dropped dangerously-- or was it Charles’ voice? And then everything was shifting and refracting wildly as one of them, Shaw or Charles, saw the incoming attack and submerged fully.

It was like staring into a hall of mirrors, the same images reflected back again and again. Shaw and Charles, staring at each other, echoed again and again, frozen into utter stillness. They straightened together slowly, the world forming and reforming constantly like a lava lamp, shifting imperfectly and perfectly from the two input from two different sets of eyes.

Charles was sitting frozen, his eyes wide, the blue of his irises clear and distinct even from across the room. He looked delicate, like Sebastian could simply reach out and snap his neck with one hand. He hadn’t gotten any more muscular after the loss of his legs, he noted in contempt. He hadn’t tried to make his upper half more useful to compensate for his lower half.

And yet Erik _wanted_ him, this skinny academic with hair that refused to be tamed. Erik looked at him like he’d never looked at anyone, treated him different. Charles Xavier was the opposite of refinement, was the opposite of anything approaching _class._ Was it the money? The youth? The power held within that frail frame?

_I should have torn him in half when I had the chance._

But he couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite decide to. There was a reason to stay in place-- Erik, of course, the reason was always Erik. There was no contradiction in him about that. The reason was always Erik Lensherr. But what to _do_ with Erik-

_Protect him._

_Restrain him._

_Save him._

_Own him._

He took a step toward Charles-- or was it toward himself?-- as his mind screamed two different things at him, two different outcomes of this situation.

“Shaw.” Erik snapped it, his voice ringing with strange harmonics in this bizarre hall of mirrors. The name sounded odd on his tongue. Shaw? _Shaw?_ “Your problem isn’t with him, it’s with me.” Erik was in front of Charles’ body now, blocking him from Shaw, all rage and power, his emotions almost vibrating off him in waves.

It was so beautiful. Again, there was no contradiction in this strange dichotomous world; Erik was beautiful.

“Do it,” Shaw-Charles ordered slowly, cautiously, unsure that the words would actually fall from their lips.

_Protect him._

_Restrain him._

Shaw-Charles took in a breath, fighting the impulses down and holding himself still as suddenly the latter impulse surged forward, straining to move, to snatch at Erik’s beautiful throat. “I’ve got us. Do it, I don’t know if I can get back in him if he throws me out.” The words were odd, echoing and unsteady as he fought down the urge to move.

“I need you to pull out of him right before I do it,” Erik said, moving closer. “I don’t know what that will do to you, if you’re in there.”

“Erik, I’ve never had to hold someone from inside their mind like this. I don’t know how long I can do this. Just do it.” He focused on Charles’ face, easier than dealing with the riot of conflicting urges that looking at Erik’s face brought. “Whatever you choose to do, I’ve got him, but it needs to be fast.”

“Find out where the other school is.” Erik moved forward, taking up the entirety of view, eyes dark and angry. “Shaw, don’t bother fighting it.” Something sharp pressed beneath Shaw’s jaw. “I can make this last a very long time, or it can be quick. Your choice.”

Anger spurred him at the words and sight of Erik’s face, enabled him to raise a hand— perhaps to snatch at the knife. _Protect him, save him._ His hand halted in the air, shaking there as it struggled between raising and falling. Another school, other people, Shaw had _told_ Angel that he had another school. His mind flickered back and forth briefly, rapidly, like moth wings against cupped hands, and blood trickled down his frozen lips slowly from his nose as _conquer him, own him_ collided violently against the search.

“Yes,” he gritted out, the words barely moving his bloodied, stiff lips. “Louisiana.”

“Thank you, _liebe._ ” Erik smiled fondly and Shaw let out a snarling sort of sound, low in his throat. Charles wasn’t sure if it came out of their physical mouth or not. “Get out of there,” Erik commanded, locking his eyes on Shaw-Charles’. “It’s not a request.”

And then he began counting one, two... he couldn’t find where his mind ended… six, seven… they were starting to panic, a raw fear of mortality mixed with a fear of drifting, lost, forever… eight, nine… There was no hope for it, they had to hold still, had to end this, Shaw couldn’t hurt anyone else. He had to trust that Erik could pull him back. Erik was his anchor. This was going to be fine. It was just going to hurt. He wasn’t going to be lost, because Erik was here, Erik was here and--

And then it was just pain, and the world was painted in watercolor streaks of black as he held on tightly to the cord between himself and his anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "We Don't Believe What's On TV" by Twenty-One Pilots, and is another paired chapter with the next.
> 
> We're considering adding an epilogue on-- there's a scene I've been considering for some time now to book-end closure onto the series. Don't be surprised if the number of chapters goes up to 19 for that reason.
> 
> Obviously Charles is okay, because they've been through enough and he's got his anchor there. It was just a good place to end the POV, it's not a cliffhanger.
> 
> We will see you guys next week for the end. Thanks for sticking with us! Comments and feedback are adored!


	18. But Because of You I Might Think Twice: Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles face the aftermath of the fight against Shaw and go to his 'school.'

Erik dropped Shaw, turning quickly as Charles gave a sharp cry, a sort of yell that broke off in an abrupt wheeze as Shaw’s eyes glazed over. Erik stepped over Shaw and moved to crouch in front of Charles, taking his hands. “Charles?” He searched his telepath’s face. Charles’ eyes stared through him, blank and searching and uncomprehending.

“Charles?” Erik searched his face and shook him slightly. “Charles.” It was less of a name and more of an order, his fingers gripping Charles’ a little more tightly than he meant to. “Charles, look at me. Talk to me.”

He wobbled with Erik’s shaking, but didn’t react otherwise, face remaining blank and eyes remaining hollow. Erik reached out for the link without another thought, grabbing at the thin thread between them. It felt oddly dim, and the other end felt… shadowed, like Charles had walked off into a fog that Erik couldn’t quite make out.

Erik closed his eyes, reaching for the link between them, and _pulled,_ like he did with his metal. _Pulled_ as he projected commands for Charles to come home to him, to find his way back from wherever he had gone. The thread caught like a leash, like a rope, like an _anchor,_ and Charles’ fingers flexed slightly in Erik’s, his eyes turning abruptly and searching to his left as if he expected Erik to be standing there.

At least it was motion, was a sign of Charles still in there. Erik relaxed a little, stroking his fingers through Charles’ hair. “Hey,” he whispered. “Charles, come back to me. I need you. We did a good job, Shaw’s gone, now I need you to come back.” He leaned up, pressing his lips to Charles’, giving the link another hard pull. _Come back to me, love. Komm zurück, liebe._

He sagged forward after a moment, collapsing forward against Erik’s chest with a hoarse sound. “Charles,” he echoed. “And Erik.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Erik pulled him out of his wheelchair carefully, resting him in his lap and kissing Charles’ temple. “You’re Charles, and I’m Erik. You’re okay. You’re back home now.”

Charles dropped his head to Erik’s shoulder, running his hands down Erik’s arms clumsily. “Shaw’s dead.” It wasn’t a question. “I didn’t want... more killing,” he noted, letting out a small sigh. “But maybe… it had to happen. You okay?”

“I’m sorry. But it needed to happen. He was never going to stop, it was going to get worse and worse.” Erik wrapped his arms more securely around his telepath. “I’m fine, he didn’t really touch me. My back’s a little sore, but that’s all. Are you all right?”

“Fine. It was just disorienting.” He shook his head a little, then raised his fingers to his temple. “ _You can come back,”_ he murmured, out loud and on the mental plane. He dropped his hand again, turning his face into Erik’s neck. “Thank you for finding me.”

“I’m always going to find you.” Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ ear. “Always and forever, no matter where you go, I’ll find you when you need me and bring you back home. Things are going to be fine.” 

There was a lot happening right now in his mind. He had officially conquered Shaw, had officially completed what had been his goal for over a decade now. That was incredible, it was amazing, and it was scary that there was now no huge goal to achieve.

Now, what was left was… well, living his life. Strange, to think that. He could spend his time with Charles now, not constantly fear that they were going to be overrun with enemies, that Shaw was going to come and destroy them all. He could live his life. He could live his life with Charles, and they could actually _do_ something, now that this threat wasn’t ever-present.

There was, however, something else they had to do first.

“We need to go to Louisiana,” he told Charles. “Shaw had another school there.”

Awareness burst into Charles’ expression and he sat up rapidly. “The teleporter, your teleporter, I need him. I can’t trust Shaw’s teleporter- I need to call Moira and have her come and pick the girl up, and maybe round up the others, they’re still waiting for Shaw- but I need to get there. I need to get there, I have to help them. _Scott_ is there, it’s why I could never find him, they’re shielding the entire school-”

“Scott?” Erik frowned. “Who’s Scott?”

“Alex’s brother.” Charles’ energy was no less frantic as he swung himself back into his chair. “We hadn’t been able to find him, and even with Cerebro— I was beginning to think he the worst, but that’s not it at all, it’s so much worse, Shaw’s managing to hide them— the cave is a shield-- _**Azazel!”**_ He barked it, hand raising to his temple, and Erik felt the surge on the mental plane.

“Charles, are you sure that you can do this? You did a huge thing today, you need to be careful not to burn out.” He watched as Charles pulled his phone out of his pocket, fingers flying across the screen. He took a deep breath, panic flickering through him at the idea of the children still at the school, still trapped there, not knowing if Shaw was coming back and just being terrified that he would. 

Azazel appeared in a crack of sulfurous smoke beside them, and Erik gripped his arm. Azazel would understand without much explanation- he too had run across the victims of Shaw’s experiments, his brother having been taken years before they had met. “Shaw had children in Louisiana. You don’t have to get us back, just get us there.”

“I’m terribly sorry, but I _will_ require you to take the children back here. We can find our own way back, but they won’t spend a second there longer than necessary.” Charles’ eyes were fierce, his shoulders tight, and Azazel looked him over before focusing on Erik for a moment. Then he gave a nod, grabbed Charles’ shoulder, and the world flickered out of existence.

They appeared outside a large building that immediately made Erik want to destroy everything. If this was the _school…_ it was a warehouse, a windowless steel box, and that told him more than he needed to know about the conditions of the “students” inside. 

He looked up at Azazel. “I know you can’t stand boxes,” he said. “You don’t need to come in with us. Thank you for bringing us this far.” He grabbed the handles of Charles’ wheelchair, steeling himself for whatever he would see inside. He needed to keep calm, he needed to keep moving and get the children out. “Charles, I’m going to be taking this at a fucking run, so tell me where I need to go, so I can get them out as soon as possible. Hold on.”

Charles was quiet, his face pale and eyes wide as he looked up at the building. “It’s the cave,” he whispered, and Erik startled, looking down at him. “Emma built the cave to hide them from other telepaths, to hide them from me. Built it with defenses so if we came close enough, it would burn us out, would break us and we wouldn’t...” Anger burned across his face. “Only three minds inside, all young, but they w- Emma’s still here.” His jaw clenched. “Run inside, the kids are in the basement. Take them out to Azazel and I’ll take care of Emma.”

“ _We_ will take care of Emma.” Erik growled. “We do this together, Charles.” He ran for the stairs, lifting Charles’ chair with his power enough as he vaulted down the stairwell that the ride would be bumpy, but not jolting. “We’ll get them out of here and then we’ll deal with her. I’m not leaving you alone again, Charles. No arguments. But we will get them out first. You can help me convince them to come with us- they might think it’s a trick.”

They hit the bottom of the stairwell and Erik waved a hand. The locks spun back and he pushed the wheelchair through the door, looking around. It was all sheet metal and cold fluorescent lighting, making his stomach churn. Hallow Hall had had parts that were terrifyingly sterile and impersonal, parts that made him still unable to go to a hospital or dentist or anywhere similar, but this… this was so much worse in every way. At least the _rest_ of the house had been fine. These children, if they were allowed to roam, wouldn’t find comfort anywhere.

“Where are they, Charles?” Erik pushed the chair down the hall, toward the doors set in the walls.

“The day room is up on the left.” Charles’ lips pressed tightly together, a haunted sort of expression crossing his face, and then they burst into the room.

It was spartan, really just a single couch, a bookshelf with four books on it, and what looked like a battered checkers set. A boy, maybe ten, had been sprawled across the floor near the checkers set, had been piling them as high as he could. His hair was messy and brown, and he was wearing a set of red glasses. A girl with white hair and dark skin, closer to thirteen, had been standing beside him, and moved to stand in front of him as Charles and Erik moved forward. Erik didn’t see a third.

“Scott,” Charles said cautiously, gently. “Scott, my name is Charles Xavier. Alex sent me to come and get you.”

“Alex?” The boy stared at him, his eyes widening and stance loosening slightly. “You know Alex?” He took a step forward and the white-haired girl placed a hand on his chest, pushing him backward as her eyes flickered cloudy and white.

“It’s a trick, Four,” she snapped, and Erik just barely stopped himself from flinching. The bastard had kept taking names, had continued to destroy even that most basic part of his ‘students.’ Disgusting. “They’re working for Shaw, they’re either lying or they have Alex, too.”

“But…” Scott bit his lip, looking between the men and the girl, gripping her shirt at her hip. “But I never told about Alex, I wouldn’t have told about Alex…”

Erik sank into a crouch. “Listen,” he said gently. “Shaw is dead. We killed him, it’s over. We were in a place like this once. Charles and I are here to take you guys somewhere safe. Somewhere you won’t ever be hurt again. Alex lives with us, and we came to take you to him.”

The little Four, Scott Summers, who looked so much like his brother Alex that it made Erik hurt a little, tightened his grip on the girl’s shirt, staring at them with longing and hope, trembling a little. “What if they’re not lying?” He looked up at her quickly.

“We’re not,” Charles assured him gently. “Ororo, I know that Shaw’s had tricks in the past, but we are not one of them. Alisa, you can stay invisible if you want. It’s really quite incredible-- I can barely even feel you, much less see you. A beautiful gift, and one that probably keeps you quite safe. Stay invisible if it makes you feel safer. But Emma’s still here in the building and I want to get you somewhere safer. If, once we get home, you want us to try to find your family, friends, relatives, we will absolutely do so. Scott, Alex is at home waiting. I could make you all come with us, but we aren’t Shaw and I don’t want to. Please come with us.”

It was hard to imagine resisting that, Erik mused as he looked down at Charles. The man had never been threatening, much less as he looked now-- earnest and pleading, in a sweater just slightly too big for him, his hair not combed as they had woken up and immediately fought Shaw. His wheelchair ostensibly rendered him less of a threat at all, and to add his soft words, promising safety and protection on top of it…

Scott looked around. “Three, do you want to come with me and Two?” he said, and Erik wasn’t able to stop the flinch that time, at his own number. “D’you wanna come?” He held out a hand, curling his other around the white-haired girl’s. Erik gave her a small smile.

“I was Two,” he said quietly. “Charles was Twelve. Come with us. We’re not going to hurt you, we want you safe.”

“And Alisa is Three,” Charles murmured, and Erik turned his head to find him staring at the children, stricken. “Where… is One?” ‘Ororo’ shifted her weight, averting her eyes, and Charles took a deep breath. “I see,” he said softly, and a girl flickered into being, bruised and with sharp, suspicious eyes. She was older than the other two, maybe fifteen or so, with dark hair that tumbled chaotically to her back. She caught Scott’s hand, watching them warily, and Charles offered her a smile. “It’s okay now, Alisa.”

 _Erik,_ Charles said, and looked up at him. _**Take them back to the mansion.**_

And it wasn’t a request.

Charles had never compelled him before, had never taken advantage of the lack of shields between them. Erik had only seen him compel anyone a handful of times, all in order to get them out of dangerous situations. Like now. He hadn’t been prepared for the way his body would react as if it were natural, his fingers reaching out of their own accord and his feet starting down the hallway, leaving Charles in the room as the children trickled around his wheelchair to follow Erik.

He fumed internally as he helped the children move up the stairs, directing them to the quickest way out of the building. He couldn’t fight it, couldn’t stop the compulsion or the movement of his arms or legs as he moved up the stairs. _Charles, we were going to do this together. Don’t you dare do something stupid._ But he couldn’t do anything but lead the children outside. “This is Azazel,” he said. “He’s agreed to help us take you all back to our school.”

“He literally looks like Satan,” Alisa pointed out, grabbing Ororo’s arm as she halted, which in turn stopped Ororo, who in turn sent Scott tumbling back a step into them.

“That’s not _his_ fault, and don’t be rude to people who are trying to help you,” Erik chastised. Internally he grimaced. He had just told a child not to be rude. _Mein Gott,_ he _had_ gotten soft. A few months ago, he would have told her to stop being an ass, but _now_ he automatically reached for PG insults, which was completely insane, considering who he’d been. “This is Azazel, who has a life and things to do, and he has kindly given his time and energy to make you safe.” He looked at Azazel. “Sorry, Az. They’ve been through a lot.”

Azazel arched a thin eyebrow at him, scarred face very slightly amused. “ _This is why I don’t like children,”_ he noted in Russian, then rested a hand on Erik’s shoulder and another on Scott’s. They teleported, which was always somewhat disorienting, flashes of smoke and sulfur and heat before they were standing in the cool air in front of the manor. 

Sean was standing in the doorway and turned his head to shout inside, “They’re back! Well-- Eisenhardt and Red Guy are, and they’ve got kids! Alex, grab a- I dunno, a blanket? Or something? Are you guys cold?” he asked in more of a sotto voice to the kids, who were staring at the mansion in front of them and their general surroundings in shock.

And to Erik’s small surprise, it was Hank who emerged from the house first, wearing a white lab coat. He wasn’t the best with people, was generally awkward and fumbling, and was about the last person Erik would have expected to volunteer for the duty of greeting anyone new to the group, but he was the one quickly approaching the small cluster.

“Hello,” he greeted them warmly, and Erik internally wondered if he had volunteered because he, like Charles, was deeply unthreatening. More just socially awkward and bumbling. “My name is Hank McCoy, I work here at this school. I understand you’ve been through a lot. We have a phone and hot chocolate if you want to call anyone or just warm up.” He offered them a smile, then looked around as Darwin and Alex appeared in the doorway, Angel behind them. She was murmuring something to Alex quickly, and the blanket tumbled from his arms as he stared at her, then whirled to look at the group now gathered on the lawn.

Alex launched himself off the stairs and ran toward them. “Scott!” he yelled it, reaching out. “Oh my god, Scott!” He hit his knees in front of the little boy, pressing his hands to Scott’s face. “You’re alive,” he breathed. “We looked, we never stopped looking for you, but you- you were gone.”

Scott nodded fast, tears welling up, and moved forward to hug Alex, who wrapped his arms around him tightly, burying his face in his little brother’s hair. Alex shook a little as he swayed with the smaller boy, squeezing his eyes closed and whispering that Scott was okay now, that they were safe, that Alex would protect him now.

Ororo and Alisa exchanged a quick glance, and, after a moment, Angel was the one crossing to the group. Her wings were out, flitting in dragonfly-fast beats against her back. She focused on Alisa and Ororo and tilted her head toward the house. “C’mon. They’re not as shitty as you think. Hank’s harmless. So is the professor. Eisenhardt isn’t, but he’s a good guard dog. Come get better clothes-- mine or Raven’s should fit you.”

The girls followed her after a moment, allowing her to lead them into the mansion. Hank ran a hand through his hair, then turned to Erik. “Chris is here,” he said. “He was supposed to play games with the boys today, and then-- well, shit hit the fan, obviously, but where’s the professor? He’s not…”

“He compelled me to leave.” Erik shook his head. “The kids are safe, I’m going back. Azazel, one more time?” He gave the teleporter an unsure smile. “I’m sorry, you’re not a bus, but I need to make sure he’s okay. You don’t have to bring us back, we can get back on our own.”

“ _You look different now, comrade.”_ Azazel inclined his head, examining him as he spoke fluidly in his native tongue, leaving Hank to look between them in confusion as Alex led Scott inside. “ _Is it the kids or their professor?”_

 _“Both.”_ Erik gave a small smile, speaking back in the same language. _“I came here for him, and they got me while I was here. I need all of them okay. He’s worth all of this, you’ll see, if you give him time.”_

Azazel sighed, looking at the watch Erik had given him. “I suppose, then,” he said, “It may be worth it. But I’m not going in, and I’ll need to rest here after without being harassed by any of the children.”

“Thank you.” Erik was almost dizzy with relief. “You can stay in the outbuilding- it’s quiet, and I’ll tell them to leave you alone. We’ll get you whatever you need. Thank you.” He grasped Azazel’s arm and they vanished again in a smokey haze.

The warehouse loomed in front of them, but with it was the thread of the mental link. _Erik, stay where you are,_ Charles ordered, almost immediately. It wasn’t a compulsion this time, and Erik ground his teeth, but stayed in place.

 _I thought I gave the orders now,_ he told him. _Are you all right?_

 _I love following your orders._ There was a smile in his voice. _I just struggle to let go of my own. I need you safe, and Frost has always been a threat. She can break into your mind and break your bones at the same time._

 _She could hurt you, too._ Erik took a step forward, but hesitated. Charles was far too self-sacrificing to allow Erik anywhere near real danger, but he was also right, that he had a better chance of getting Emma. _Tell me what you need. I need you to come back with me and help take care of the kids, and watch Alex and Scott together._

 _I’m not going anywhere, love._ The words were so gentle. _She’s not the type to lash out and stick to a course even if it kills her. She’s a survivor. She’ll adapt, reroute. Try to make a deal. She doesn’t want to kill me._ A flicker of surprise at that, and then he was silent.

Erik stayed in place, bending the pole beside him back and forth, twisting it into a knot as he tried to focus and listen, to feel along their link. He felt helpless and sick with anxiety, but he needed to listen and trust that Charles knew what he was talking about.

And then he realized, with a mix of belief and bemusement, that he could widen the thread, push it open and press in, and--

And then he could see Emma Frost, sitting at a desk, looking every bit as put-together and seamless as she ever had. Her hair was still blonde and perfectly styled, her earrings diamonds that glittered beside her neck. She was smiling at him- at _Charles-_ and tilted her head. Erik looked around, confused and surprised, not really understanding how this was possible. Maybe… maybe Charles had let him in, was helping project, in a way, so Erik could see what was going on and not worry about everything.

“ _You_ killed Sebastian?” she asked skeptically.

“Well. Somewhat.” Charles shrugged, and Erik could feel his own shoulders move, echoing the action as his own lips moved soundlessly to Charles’ words. So bizarre. Was this what it had been like, when Charles had been inside Shaw’s head? It was disconcerting, to say the least. “Erik killed him. I held him still.”

“Mm. From inside, then.” She flicked an eyebrow and considered this. “Does it hurt to die? I’ve never been stupid enough to stay inside.”

“It does,” Charles agreed mildly, and Erik froze, the sound Charles had made when he’d killed Shaw taking on new meaning. He had thought Charles had pulled back, he’d thought that Charles wouldn’t have felt it, he’d had no idea that he had still been in there. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Emma, you already know we’ve taken the children. Shaw is gone. This is over. What are you going to do about it?”

She watched him, eyes hardening for a moment, flickering diamond, and then she smiled. “I’m going to leave,” she said lightly. “And you’re going to let me.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. _No, we’re not,_ he growled.

Charles laughed at the idea. “Why would we ever let you go? Emma, you’ve worked with Shaw just shy of twenty _years._ You’ve ruined countless lives together. You’re just as guilty as he is. I don’t believe in killing, but you _do_ need to face justice for what you’ve done.”

“Oh, yes, because a telepath could certainly and easily be captured and serve a prison sentence.” She sighed, as if Charles were an errant schoolboy brought to her for discipline, and set a paper aside on her desk. “No, Charles, I don’t think so. You’re going to let me go for many reasons. First, you’re an idealist who believes in second chances and there’s a part of you that hopes that I’ll use my ability for good now that I’m no longer under Shaw’s thumb.” Erik growled, wishing he could lash out and hit her. This sounded, in fact, _exactly_ like Charles-logic. “Second, because I’m a telepath and part of you still, deep down, believes that telepaths should look out for each other, that no one sees the world like we do. Third, because I told your beau your name and I didn’t have to, but fourth, and most importantly, sugar, because I saved your life seven years ago.”

Erik’s thoughts of revenge and anger stopped with an almost audible screech, and he stared at her, trying to process this. Emma had saved Charles? They had already figured out that it had _had_ to be Emma or Shaw, but the way she worded it, _saved your life_ instead of _spared you,_ put a very different spin on it.

Emma had been sad, in a way, when she’d told him Charles’ name. She had said he had a beautiful mind. Had it been mercy? Had she… _liked_ him? Erik had stopped hoping for mercy from Emma about two months into the stay with her and Shaw.

Charles was frozen. “ _You?”_ He asked, faltering, then, “No. Because Shaw told you to, because you wanted-”

“Shaw was going to kill you,” she said simply, easily. “In front of Lensherr when he woke up. I told him that it would only serve to make the boy obsessed with you rather than with Sebastian, and he let me ‘dispose of you’ myself. I tossed you on the side of the road. You were found. You lived. Shaw never even knew. You were out of his head, out of his mind for _years_ until you and Lensherr, who he of course kept tabs on, reunited. He wasn’t exactly thrilled that you were alive, but you were powerful enough that he forgave me for the indiscretion. I told him you woke up and compelled me not to kill you. He believed me. He was too arrogant to assume someone would lie to him twice.”

Charles and Erik stared at her. Things were starting to click into place, the circumstances that had led to Charles surviving finally making sense. “You… but _why?_ It would have been easier to let me die. I was dying anyway. And you barely even saved me-- I could have bled out on the road before someone found me! Why would you even risk that in the first place?”

“Maybe I was banking a favor for the future,” she offered mildly, sweeping a gesture to indicate the here-and-now with ring-clad pale fingers. Charles made a derisive noise and she smiled slightly. “No, you are correct, that was not the reason. Not entirely, anyways… you tried to save the kid. The little bat-shifter.” She waved a hand dismissively and Erik felt his hands curl into fists, echoing Charles again. “You didn’t have to. We both knew she was dying. She would have been gone by the end of the week. You knew, just as well, that you would be punished and possibly killed for your deceit. And yet you shielded her, showed power strong enough to overlay my own.”

She examined Charles, speculating. “I don’t know if I would have spared you, had I known how strong you were going to become,” she admitted bluntly. “You’re too powerful, I’ll be honest. But in that moment, one where, already manipulating my mind, you could have killed me, or just left the child and saved yourself the pain, all you chose to do was protect an already-dying mutant.” She gave her head a small shake. “It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t the smart thing to do, either for saving your own skin or hers. You could have tried to have me break a window, tried to earn all four of you freedom. Maybe you didn’t think of it, I don’t know. But you spared her, and you spared me, and when you were suffering for it, you didn’t blame anyone else. I came and got you from your room, and you just… set your book aside, gave me a smile, said _all right then, Emma,_ and came right along with me.” She shook her head again. “It didn’t make sense, your mind. It doesn’t work like normal people’s do. So I decided to give into your _ridiculous_ telepaths-should-support-each-other mindset for one night and let you live, if you could make it to a hospital. You did.”

Erik smiled a little, tilting his head. _It was because you are the best person in the world. Like I have always told you._ Emma had seen that, seen the beauty of who Charles actually _was,_ and like anyone who truly knew him, had been affected by that. You couldn’t get close to Charles, really know him and have true contact with him, without understanding what a deeply _good_ person he was.

Charles took in a slow breath, staring at her for a moment. “But you still let the other two die. You let Erik be locked in a _basement_ for the better half of a week. You let me think he was dead for _seven years,_ and you kept working with Shaw-”

“Please.” She levelled him with a look. “If I had let you or Lensherr know the other was alive, you would have found each other, and Shaw would have taken you both back in or just killed _you_ in a heartbeat. He never stopped watching Lensherr. He enjoyed the chase, enjoyed that seven years later, he was still Lensherr’s driving force for living. If that had changed, he would have put a stop to it. Just like he tried to do this morning. Face it, Charles. I saved your life and you, like it or not, are too moral of a person to overlook that. You’re going to let me go.”

Charles stared at her, hands clenching and unclenching. _Erik, I- I don’t know what to do. She’s still hurt people, she’s helped murder people. Children. Zasha and Beck. She saved my life, but does that matter in the face of all that?_

Erik took a deep breath, then, _Let her go this one time. If she crosses our paths again, she’s done. No more mercy. Just this one time, in exchange for your life, and we pass on her information to the... authorities at the FBI, McTaggert’s group._

Charles was silent for a moment, clearly struggling with the acceptance that his life was worth more than justice for the others, and then he let out a breath. “This one time, Emma. Just this one time. If you get involved in _any_ shit in the future, I will find you. You know that I can.” 

“I do.” She offered a dazzling smile and Charles took a deep breath, then begun to wheel himself out of the room. She watched him for a moment, then, “Charles? That link you’ve made. It’s quite extraordinary, you know.” He turned his head, looking at her with narrowed eyes, and she offered a shrug. “Just saying. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Likewise to your cave. And I assume Shaw’s shield mask was your handiwork.” He studied her for a long moment, anxiety and bitterness shifting in his chest. “We really could have learned from each other, Emma.”

He turned away, uneasy, and wheeled out of the room. It was only seconds before he was looking at Erik, which meant that Erik was looking at himself, and the world was refracting in on itself like mirrors facing each other. Charles shook his head hard and the second perspective snapped away from him, the link returning to its usual thread between them and Erik’s sight his own.

Erik blinked, gaining perspective back, and smiled a little, moving forward to touch Charles’ hair. “I’ve never seen myself through someone else,” he said. “I do need a haircut. And potentially a jaw reduction or something, it is _not_ appealing from that angle.”

“Your face is perfect,” he murmured dismissively, leaning into Erik’s hand and looking thoroughly exhausted. “Azazel, my friend, I’m truly so sorry. If there’s any way-”

“ _Da,”_ Azazel agreed shortly, clapping Erik’s shoulder, and they were standing in front of the mansion in a swirl of smoke. Azazel took a step back and Charles reached out, catching his arm gently. They made eye contact for a moment, Charles not sharing the words that he was speaking softly into the teleporter’s mind, and then Azazel grunted, pulled away and headed for the outbuilding.

“I’ll settle everyone and bring you whatever you need,” Erik called, and leaned down, kissing Charles’ hair. “I love you,” he murmured, relaxing. Shaw was dead. Emma was taken care of. The children were safe. Erik shook his head. “Say hello to the children, so they know you’re safe,” he said, pushing Charles’ chair forward. “And then go sleep it off. You did a lot today. I’ll make sure everyone’s settled, and then I’m going to go make sure Az is fine. I’ve never seen him ‘port that much, I don’t know how much he can do.”

“He’s not at burnout, but he’s close. He’ll sleep a lot more than usual for a few days.” Charles shook his head a little. “I should stay up, I’m sure the kids are worried and Logan’s not very comforting and your day has been just as long as mine.”

“Which is why I’m taking you in there to speak to them,” Erik said firmly, “And then you’re going to go to sleep. Take care of yourself. We’re safe, now. You don’t need to worry about our safety constantly anymore. I’ll be there, Moira’s coming if she’s not already here with Raven in tow, and Logan’s more than capable of taking care of things as well. You can rest.”

“Is that a suggestion or an order?” Charles’ tone was very nearly playful above the undercurrent of exhaustion.

“To take care of yourself? That’s an order. It’s always an order.” Erik grinned a little, pushing the wheelchair up the small ramp and toward the babble of voices, and Charles laughed quietly, a soft warmth brushing against his mind as Charles relaxed into his chair.

* * *

“ _Tovarishch,”_ Azazel greeted Erik when he stepped into Cerebro’s room. Hank had clearly been working hard to repair the damage that Erik had wreaked during Charles’ cardiac arrest, but there were still crumpled bits of metal here and there and there was, very notably, now a cot in the corner of the room. Azazel had chosen to sit on one of the large metal boxes insteal, his back leaning against the wall. His tail tapped the side of the box idly as he inspected Erik. “You still look like shit,” he reflected bluntly.

Erik laughed, settling on one of the boxes near him, holding out a basket. “Charles made you a package with damn near everything in the fridge,” he said with a snort. “Five different kinds of foods, water, three different drinks that _aren’t_ water, and two desserts. I brought alcohol, too. Not the light shit he likes.”

“Hmph.” He examined the basket, then the room. “What is this? It looks rather sinister for belonging to Blue Eyes out there.”

Blue Eyes. Erik chuckled a little and put the basket near Azazel’s foot, then stretched, settling back in his seat. Azazel liked space. “It’s an amplification machine. Helps him see more people, get deeper into his gift. He can do some amazing things with it.”

“Hmm.” His lips pressed together briefly as he examined it. “He called me from Chicago,” he informed him. “Yelled into my mind from New York. I don’t think he needs too much more power.”

Erik shook his head. “And that call hurt, it was fueled with panic about the kids. He doesn’t use it for anything that we’d be worried about- I do keep an eye on that. He’s good, Az. He is one of the only truly good people I have ever met.”

He shrugged a little, looking away, then, “Shaw is dead.” He tasted the words, running his fingers along the barb at his tail slowly. He was silent for a moment, then, “Thank you, Erik.”

Erik smiled a little, shaking his head. “You don’t need to thank me for that. I’m glad it’s over. I appreciate you helping get us there and back, and getting the kids. I know you don’t go that much at once, but it was necessary. I’m just glad it’s over.”

“No,” Azazel said after a moment, releasing his tail. It lashed against the side of his perch, making the metal hum softly. “I do have to thank you. You avenged my blood. And you kept her safe, while you could.”

Erik frowned slowly. “I kept _her_ safe?” He tried to think about anyone he could be talking about, but it didn’t make sense.

“I didn’t have a brother taken by Shaw,” he said, watching Erik with oddly-light eyes that never failed to be alarming compared to the red of his skin. “I had a sister. Zasha Natalia Andreyev. We shared a father and little else.”

Erik stared at him, then gave a small, sad smile. Of course. Their similarities made sense, suddenly- the same attitudes, the same vocal inflections. Even their abilities… Zasha had been a firestarter, and Azazel disappeared in a smoke and sulfurous cloud. “I’m so sorry. She was a good person, and she didn’t deserve to have that ending. I did everything I could to try and keep her alive until we could escape.” He hesitated, then, “Do you have photos of her? Charles had one made. You can see it, if you want. Or I could have a print made.”

He inclined his head. “Perhaps,” he allowed after a moment. “We weren’t overly close. I manifested and rarely stayed in one place after. I was much older than her. But she was still my kin, and ought to have been my responsibility to guard from people like Shaw. She can rest in peace, now that she has been avenged. So thank you for that.” His tail flicked out, hooked around the handle of the basket and flipped it up into his hands.

Erik smiled a little. “All right. You can thank me for that, if you need to. You’re welcome. Let me know if you want a print of her picture- you might have real photos, or access to them. Is there anything you need?”

“No. I’ll rest for the night, and then I’ll head off. No offense, but this is all…” He gestured to their surroundings, to the mansion and kids within it. “No. But you know how to get ahold of me if you need me. Or Blue Eyes can, apparently.” He snorted.

Erik smiled and nodded. “It’s not your thing. I know. It took me a while to get used to it, too. Stay as long as you need, you can leave when you’re ready. We’ll be in the house- if you need us, you can come in, or you can call and Charles will hear you. He’s a damn satellite and can’t turn it off.” Erik stood. “There’s blankets in the cabinet in the back, and padding you can use as pillows if you don’t want me to bring one. The cot is yours for as long as you need it. Just let me know.”

He inclined his head and watched as Erik left, allowing him to trek back up to the house. _Zasha’s brother,_ Charles noted quietly in his head, and Erik sighed, shaking his head. Not asleep, then, and listening in. Of course. _I didn’t see the resemblance. His skin distracted me, I’d imagine… I need to pay better attention to details._ His voice trailed off, sleepy, caught the edge of Erik’s annoyance. _I can’t sleep without you,_ he admitted after a beat of silence. _When I shut my eyes, I keep… I can still feel the edges of his mind on mine. It’s sticky and dark. Like tar. I did try._

Erik’s stomach twisted and he jogged up the path to the house. _I’m sorry. I’m on my way, I can understand struggling with that._ He walked into the house and down the hall, noting that the kids were mostly upstairs, talking, by the sound of it. Chris was still here, and there were three new members of their little family, so it made sense that they were excited. At least they were quiet. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room that had so quickly become his and Charles’, pulling it closed behind him. “Hey,” he said gently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Hey.” Charles glanced up at him, sitting against the wall and dwarfed by the comforters he had drawn up and around himself. Erik’s hoodie was curled into his hands, and Charles hid it within the blankets slightly as Erik came closer. “I’m fine,” he said, preemptively and slightly defensively. “I just didn’t want to sleep alone. I got in the bed though,” he added, as if that should earn him points towards attempting to follow Erik’s directive.

“I see.” Erik smiled and leaned forward, kissing him. “I’m sorry. I understand struggling to fall asleep. I probably would, too. I don’t sleep well when I come to bed before you- we’ve been sleeping together for too long and it’s strange to be alone in bed now.” He pulled off his shoes, putting them in a neat line beside the bed, grabbing the shoes that Charles had tossed off and lining them up as well. He settled back into the bed, sitting up back against the wall. “It’s hard to believe,” he mused, holding out his arms. “That it’s over.”

Charles moved forward almost immediately, wrapping around Erik and settling his head into the hollow of Erik’s throat. He was quiet there for a moment, then, “All that hunting you did, and all the looking through Cerebro… and he just walks up to our door.”

“I know.” Erik laughed a little, resting his hand on top of Charles’ and wrapping his arms around him. “The kids got out of the way clean and he made it simple, thank God. He was always so arrogant, always thought that no one would truly want to, or _could,_ defeat him. That’s what got him killed in the end. Speaking of,” Erik continued, voice hardening slightly even as he hugged Charles closer, “Were you going to tell me that you had to _feel Shaw die?”_

“Oh. No.” Charles was too tired to be bothered by this admission, his hand finally releasing the hoodie to instead flatten over Erik’s heart. “I wasn’t. Emma’s a snitch.”

Erik sighed, moving his hand beneath Charles’ shirt to rest his fingers on his telepath’s skin. “Sometimes I think the only way to protect you from yourself is to lock you up in a tower like that princess in the fairy tale,” he said, pressing his lips to Charles’ temple gently. “I’m not happy you did that, but… I’m glad that you’re safe. It’s good you have an anchor then, hm? Emma couldn’t have done it and made it back out intact.”

“No,” he agreed on a breath, curling his body slightly closer. “No. Normally I would be able to freeze him from the outside, but his shielding was… unique. A one-way ticket, in a way. I couldn’t hold him without being inside his shields. Death was… different from what I expected. Painful. Foggy.” He made a thoughtful noise, tracing Erik’s tattoo absently. “I’ve gotten close three times now, and none of it felt like that.”

“Probably because he went to hell and no divinity that has ever existed would do that to _you,”_ Erik laughed, stroking his fingers along his back. “I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re safe here with me, now. And we can truly relax and be with each other. No more fear that he will show up, no more fear that he will take our children. We can start building the school properly, adding more students, maybe getting a few teachers. Hank could teach, and so could Raven. We could split the work.”

“Hank would hate teaching.” A small laugh bubbled out of his lover. “Are you kidding? _Maybe_ one class a day, but he’s too interested in his own research and he’s not confident enough with other people. And Raven’s too interested in her travelling lifestyle, being paid to sleuth and spy.” He pressed a kiss to Erik’s collarbone, eyelids drooping slightly. “I like the idea, though… I’m sure there’s mutant teachers already out in the world, maybe I could find them with Cerebro, hire them on…”

“We could turn it into a proper boarding school.” Erik shifted them so they were laying down, keeping Charles curled up against him. “Tuition, to help run things, if the families can pay, whatever they’re comfortable paying. Some of the kids can leave for the holidays or breaks and be with their families, those who don’t want to or don’t have families can stay here with us. There are so many mutant children who could benefit from a safe place like this.” Charles made a contented noise, watching him with sleep-soaked affection, so Erik continued making plans, talking about anything and everything until the soft breath against his skin evened out, the presence against his mind fading to a soft background hum.

He was asleep peacefully then. He wasn’t at burnout. He wasn’t grievously injured. They had rescued the remaining kids from the compound. Emma Frost was going to stay away from them. Sebastian Shaw was dead.

Sebastian Shaw was dead.

Zasha and Beck were avenged. _Erik_ was avenged. His mother- and there was that odd, bittersweet hiccup of pain that always accompanied the memory of her face- was avenged. They could rest in peace. Charles and Erik could move on with their lives. It almost felt too good to be true, like at any moment it would all come crashing down.

Erik buried his face in Charles’ hair and started thinking as he listened to Charles’ gentle breathing. He had rarely thought about life _after_ Shaw, about what could happen in his life after the constant threat of Shaw was gone.

The idea of running a school properly, of being a teacher in actuality and not just a reluctant trainer, in having that kind of responsibility and place in the world, was scary in a way, but not nearly as frightening as it had been a few months ago.

PTSD would not go away magically. The tiny flutter of fear that he would mess up and be a terrible teacher, that he _couldn’t_ help Charles with this because he was too damaged, the thrill of fear that he could lose his mind and hurt one of them if something triggered him, that wouldn’t go away, either. He needed to work on it, and get things settled in his own head. He couldn’t just push it all down and away. Now that Shaw was no longer a threat, maybe he could find a way to become mentally well. He needed to go to therapy, and Charles would help him. That would be his first move forward. Everything else… everything else he would just let fall into place.

He had Charles. As long as he had Charles Xavier and their school, these children he could hear laughing above them as Charles’ soft, steady breathing filled the air around them, everything else was details.

His life could actually start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is the other half of the lyrics from 'We Don't Believe What's On TV' from Twenty-One Pilots.
> 
> We did end up deciding to create an epilogue, so there will be one last chapter in which we provide Erik some closure because our boys have gone through so much in this plot. Thanks for sticking around and I'll see you one last time next week!
> 
> Comments and feedback are adored, lovelies!


	19. They're Goin' To Better Places: Erik, 2014- Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik gets some closure and looks toward the future.

The halls were exactly as Erik remembered them. Gray and narrow, the lights dim from Erik having broken them throughout various fits of temper. The floors were hardwood and cracked, the walls singed with burns or blast marks here and there. It was, inch for inch, exactly the same.

He found himself walking slowly, steadily, his feet trekking a familiar path down the hallway, around the corner, up the slope that creaked if he were to step to the left. He could walk this path blindfolded, he thought distantly.

A voice came drifting through the open door ahead of him and he stared ahead, feet slowing as his stomach lurched with the familiar sound.

“Wait for a time, exactly under the star,” the voice said, softer than Erik had ever heard it but still with the thick accent it had always carried. “Then, if a little man appears who laughs, who has golden hair and who refuses to answer questions, you will know who he is.”

Erik rounded the corner and looked down at the girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back leaned against the couch. Her hair was long and inky, spilling in a clean wave over her shoulder, her dark, ashy eyes leaving the pages of the battered book between her fingers. She studied him for a moment, then looked back at her book. 

“If this should happen,” she murmured, and Erik was unable to move, spellbound by her existence here, by the reality of this beautiful teenager he’d last seen broken and dead, “Please comfort me. Send me word that he has come back.” She closed the book, resting it atop her knee, and focused up on Erik’s face again. “Dumb story,” she murmured, lips curving up slightly in a sardonic, teasing sort of smile. “Have you come back, _malen'kiy prints?”_

“Zasha.” Slowly, very slowly, so as not to disturb this hallucination or vision or whatever it was, he moved forward and sank into a crouch, staring at her. “Zasha, how are you here?” He couldn’t look away from her face, from the way she smiled and the way her eyes glittered in the strange light here. 

He had missed her.

“Some ghosts haunt buildings,” she said, watching him with a small smile. “Others haunt people.”

He sat, reaching out to touch her hand, then curled his fingers into his palm. “Are you angry?” He tried to smile, tried to modulate his voice through the lump in his throat. “I’m part of the reason everything went so fast. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer, but… I’m sorry. I wanted to get you out.”

She watched him, resting her elbows on her knees. “Do you want me to be angry at you? Would that be better?”

“No.” He gave a weak laugh. “You’d have the right to be, but no. I was always making you mad, though.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to be angry with me. But that doesn't mean you aren’t.” 

She smiled, shaking her head. “Ghosts aren’t real, Two. They’re just memories that haunt you. Not souls.” She twirled the book by its corners. “And my memory can rest. You killed him. Did it give you the peace you were looking for? Or are you just tired?”

Erik stretched out his legs, tracing the holes in the carpet from where they’d put out their cigarettes, or where Zasha had gotten angry and dripped flame in her wake. “I have people to watch out for, still,” he said. “They’re all children like we were. Having him gone, knowing he can’t come after them or Charles- Twelve- it brings a sort of peace.” He shrugged a little.

She nodded, understanding this. Fire played between her fingers, rolling up and around like an animal rubbing up against her, and he studied her profile. She really had been young. Sometimes it was easy to forget. She’d always been so hard, so sharp, and she’d been nearly his age. He’d almost forgotten that Angel was actually older than Zasha had ever gotten.

“I was only seventeen,” she agreed as if she could follow his train of thought. The fire spiked and twirled like a dancer on her palm. “You’ll make sure that your students, that they live longer than that? The ones now. The ones to come.”

“Yes.” That was an easy request. “I will never make this mistake again. They won’t be in danger. They will learn, and grow, and then they will move on and have lives of their own.” He searched her face, looking for a resemblance to Azazel and not really finding it. Maybe the color of the hair. “Your brother helped save some.”

“My brother,” she informed him somewhat tartly, “Needs to pull the stick out of his ass.”

Erik felt a grin cross his face and he tilted his head. He missed that sound, the sharpness in her voice, the cutting tone and expression that hid what a good person she was beneath. She wasn’t soft, not like Charles or Alex or Hank, but she was good anyway. Like Angel. “Yeah, probably,” he agreed, relaxing. This felt right. This felt like he was talking to Zasha again- all annoyance and sass. “We all do sometimes, you know. You got uppity on occasion.”

“Only when you cheated at cards,” she informed him. “Or when I had the last cigarette and you thought we could _share.”_ She snorted. “Not even in the afterlife, _durak.”_

He laughed and moved to sit beside her, leaning back against the wall. “So you’re not stuck here forever, right? This isn’t your afterlife.” He looked around, stomach lurching a little at the idea that she had nothing better than this place of horrors to spend eternity. “You were a better person than to deserve hell like this.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, Two.” She leaned into his side slightly, as blazing warm as he remembered. “They’re just memories humans can’t let go of. You killed Shaw. You can let go of me. You can let me move on from this place now.” She curled her fingers around his, giving them a small squeeze. Her hand was so much smaller than he remembered, so much more fragile than he had ever thought. “You feel like you can let me rest,” she added softly, looking up at him.

He rested his head against hers, closing her hands in his. “I want you to rest,” he whispered, chest aching. “Thank you for taking care of Charles when I couldn’t, _khoroshen'kaya devochka._ You saved his life.”

She smiled, shrugging easily. “He wasn’t ready to let me move on, either.” She raised her hand to his cheek. “You were more my brother than Az was,” she mused. “Thank you for that. But you need to go now. I’m not the only ghost haunting the hall, and they all have requests.”

He pulled her into a tight hug because he could, because he had never really hugged her in life and he wouldn’t have the chance again. “I love you, Zash,” he whispered. “Go home. I’ll let you go.”

She hugged him back, thin arms tight and stronger than he might have expected. “ _Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu,_ Erik. Set something on fire for me every so often?” She pulled back to give him a smile, dark eyes just a little shinier than they normally were.

“I’ve got three kids at the mansion who do that regularly for me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, his eyes burning. “I’ll wait a few minutes to get the fire extinguisher next time, yeah? Twelve has enough money to replace whatever they burn.”

She laughed, the sound bright and easy, and then she was gone, the book laying by his knee, the light through the windows slightly softer. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his knees as he fought tears that threatened.

She was safe. 

He got up and wandered, not really paying attention to where he was going or how, still focusing on calming his breathing, on processing what had just happened. He found himself in the kitchen, and it was Beck glancing around at him, arms wrapped around a mixing bowl.

“Hand me the whisk?” she requested, eyes crinkling up at him.

Erik stared at her. Full sentences and everything. He’d only heard her speak that way in the first week or so of the time she’d lived with them, he had forgotten what her voice really sounded like. “Beck,” he said, giving her a small smile. “Hey. The whisk?” he looked around distractedly, finding it difficult to look away from her, pretty and bright and sane.

She beamed when he found it and she took it, mixing the concoction in the bowl. “I wanted to be a chef,” she told him, hopping back to sit on the counter. “No real reason why. I just liked the thought of being able to eat whatever I didn’t sell.” She grinned at him, legs swinging back and forth.

“Yeah?” He felt a little smile cross his face and leaned against the island, watching her. Beck didn’t hurt the same way that Zasha had. Charles had said it best- she was dying already, fading every day. He’d constantly wondered if she would be there when he walked to her room to check on her in the morning. But it still hurt, he still wished that it hadn’t happened. That she had had a chance for a life. “I didn’t know you liked to cook. I do see the appeal of eating your unsold wares.”

She nodded, sticking her finger in the batter and tasting it. She’d only been fourteen, he recalled as he studied her. She was younger by far than any of the students at the mansion… although that wasn’t true anymore now, he reasoned. Ororo and Scott were both under fourteen. She looked up at him, smiling a little as she started whisking again.

“Why’m I here, Two? You know you did the best you could. Even when I just sat in a chair, you tried to move the coils and wires so it would be softer for me. You made sure I had food. You did everything you could. Why do you still hold on?”

He played with the salt shaker on the tiled surface, watching her. “I don’t know. Old habits, I guess. I wanted to find your family, tell them what happened. I never got to. By the time I got out they were all gone and I felt guilty. For that and for not helping you, probably. You were so young, Beck. He should have known better than to do what he did to you. I should have stepped in, tried to convince him to stop or take a different tactic. I was too scared.”

She set the mixing bowl aside. “Would you blame one of your students for being scared?”

“I’m not sure you could technically classify me as a child at that point.” Erik gave a short laugh. He understand what she was getting at, but it was different. They were in a totally different situation. “He’d had me since I was a kid, by any definition of _child_ I wasn’t one by the time you died.”

“I never said ‘child,’ you did that on your own.” Her eyes crinkled at him, and then she shook her head. “It’s done, Two. It’s over, it’s all over.” She hopped down and tilted her head back to look up at him. “I just wanted to thank you,” she admitted. “It would have been easier for you to detach. Thank you for keeping up with me.”

He reached out, resting a hand on her head gently. “I couldn’t detach from you. I wanted you to make it, Beck. I’m sorry you didn’t. I would have liked to watch you shift, to talk to you for real instead of what you could manage because of that psychopath.”

She nodded, eyes a little watery, and offered a smile. “Me, too,” she agreed, and then she shifted, a bright shimmer of light and matter, before she was flapping in the air, so tiny, a brown bat with black wings. He felt a delighted laugh break from him, admiring her other form, and reached out his hands so she could land safely if she wanted to.

“You’re beautiful,” he told her as she squeaked happily at him, landing on his thumb. He had never had the chance to experience this with her in real life. He’d never been able to properly say goodbye to either of them. “You can go, you can rest. Thank you for letting me see you for real. The painting Twelve has, it doesn’t do either of you justice.”

She shifted back, standing in front of him with a bright smile. “Well, we were super pretty,” she informed him, and he laughed, leaning forward to kiss her hair. Her eyes crinkled up again. “That was my only request,” she said, turning and picking up the mixing bowl. “I just wanted to make you laugh one time. I never could when I was alive.”

“Nobody laughed there much,” he agreed, stepping back. “Thank you, Beck. It was good to see you smile for real. To see you shift. My kids now, they’d love you.” He rolled his eyes. “Probably because the three Stooges would send you off for recon or something where they’d get caught, but still.”

She laughed as she started mixing again, falling quiet with a smile, and he started for the door, pausing a foot or so into the hallway when he caught her voice singing. “A year from now, we’ll all be gone. All our friends will move away. But they’re goin’ to better places…” she hummed the next few lines, the tune so hauntingly sweet and familiar, then, “Rivers and roads, rivers and roads, rivers till I reach you…” she continued singing quietly before her voice faded away altogether and he stayed still for a long moment or two, playing the tune and the new words over and over in his head.

He’d never heard her sing the song, only mumble pieces or hum it under her breath. It had been beautiful.

He continued walking slowly, and found himself this time in the library. Charles was standing there, arms full of books, back leaned back slightly to support the stack. He beamed when he saw Erik, raising a hand to wave, and the stack scattered across the ground, falling at his feet. He settled his hands on his hips. “Well, that wasn’t ideal,” he observed, amused.

Erik stared at him. He’d thought about a lot of people who might be here, but Charles wasn’t one of them. “Are you… why are you here?” He reached out to help pick up the books mechanically.

“It’s your mind, love.” He laughed. “You tell me.” He took them and settled them aside, searching his face thoughtfully for a moment, then, “Lost innocence?” he guessed, and Erik took in again just how young he was. It wasn’t Charles so much as Twelve standing here. “Lost legs? Or maybe talking to Zasha and Beck was just hard and your mind wanted to provide some comfort.”

“You always did that. You still do. I wouldn’t be surprised if I did that to myself- we both reach out for each other when we’re upset.” Erik searched his face, then gave a small smile. Charles’ teenaged self, just as beautiful and brave as his adult self, just a bit less burdened. “Hello, Twelve.”

Twelve’s eyes crinkled up into a smile, easy and free. “Hey,” he greeted him. “Are you doing okay?”

Erik laughed and sat on the arm of the couch, looking around. They had spent so much of their time in here. A lot of important moments for them had happened here. “Yeah,” he said, considering. “Yeah, I’m doing okay. This is weird, but it’s good to see the girls again. I missed them. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” He looked up at Twelve and reached out, cupping the boy’s cheek in one hand. “It’s so strange to see you so young again.”

Twelve smiled at him, catching his wrist and squeezing it gently. “Am I allowed to make a request, too?”

“Yes.” Erik had never been able to say no to Charles, and nor would he want to, in this instance. “What would you like?” _They all have requests,_ Zasha had said. To put their memories to rest.

“I always loved ice skating.” His eyes lit. “Obviously I can’t do that now. There’s a lot I can’t do on my own legs.” His eyes dropped to them, slightly sad for a moment, then focused back on Erik. “But would you take me anyway? Between you controlling the skates and your arm, I think I could stay upright. You could keep us from falling. It could be something I don’t have to lose.”

Erik smiled, leaning forward and kissing his eyebrow. “Absolutely. That’s not a hard ask. I’ll think of a way for you to be stable, you could have something like it again.” If Charles and Erik were properly linked, Charles could tell him how he wanted his legs and feet to move and Erik could move them without much of a delay, making it feel almost like he was doing it on his own. Erik focused back on the beautiful boy before him. “I would never let you fall. I’ll take care of it. At least you ask me for things here. Can you stick around for Christmas and birthdays?”

Twelve laughed warmly. “No,” he informed him. “That would be cheating. We’ll get better with communication. We’ll get less insecure, too. We’ll grow.” He squeezed Erik’s hand. “We’re going to get better. It just takes time.”

“I’ll give you as much time as you need,” Erik promised, squeezing Twelve’s fingers back. “I love you. You’ve been through a lot, it’s okay to be insecure. It’s okay to need reassurance and time. I’ve still got you. And I’ll take you ice-skating.”

Twelve smiled up at him, raising his hand to kiss his fingers, and then his expression sobered. “Are you ready for what comes next?” he asked him gently, searching his face.

“I don’t know.” Erik tried to smile, options flashing through his head. “I can imagine a lot of people coming next. I have a suspicion if I’m doing this, I brought you here to help calm me down before the next one.”

Twelve leaned up, pressing their foreheads together. “The rest of me will be there when you come out of this, if you need calming again,” he promised, and then faded. Erik took a deep breath, hearing movement behind him, and steeled himself. It could be anyone. There could be a thousand reasons why Charles would want to steady him for whoever this was.

He turned and stilled, his breath catching in his chest for a moment, feeling like he’d fallen back in time.

Edie Lensherr was standing there, dark curls loose under the soft beanie she’d so often worn that last winter, her denim jacket the exact one he had seen so many times, the _last_ time, her smile a perfect replica of the one she had offered on so many occasions- soft and sweet and sympathetic. “ _Schatzi,”_ she greeted him gently.

He opened and closed his mouth for a long minute, then tried to smile. “Hello, _Mama.”_ He took in a deep breath. His voice sounded stupidly unsteady and young, not the way he had wanted it to sound, the way he’d want his mother to meet the adult Erik Lensherr.

He had forgotten what she looked like in movement. He finally had a photo, and it was a decent quality, but it had still been taken almost two decades ago. Here she was, vibrant and lovely and seemingly alive, and he found that his throat ached and his eyes burned like a much younger version of himself.

“Oh, _schatzi.”_ She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. She smelled like bread and cinnamon, like the bakery below their house, and it was hard to breathe through it as her fingers curled into his hair, rocking him from side to side gently. “ _Mein schöner junge… alles ist gut,_ Erik. _Alles ist gut, ja?”_

He buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her back tightly. He’d missed her so much. He had grieved so much. “I’m so sorry you had to die like that,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I should have focused more, I should have been able to stop it. It was one bullet. I’m so sorry.” He hugged her a little tighter, inhaling the way she smelled. For almost two years after she’d died, he hadn’t been able to smell bread or cinnamon without having a panic attack. Shaw had ensured that it happened once a month or so at least. “ _Es tut mir leid, Mama.” I’m so sorry._

“No.” She smacked the back of his head without releasing him and he rubbed it in a familiar gesture, barely caging a whine that it wasn’t his fault and that he was sorry, the sensation one he’d gotten his entire childhood for various things. “None of that. You do not blame yourself for what he did. You hear me?” She pulled back, meeting his eyes, hers dark and slightly narrowed. “He wanted you to carry the responsibility, to take it away from himself. That is not right. He killed me and he made you watch. He knew you couldn’t do it. It is not your fault, _schatzi.”_

He took her hand, taking in a breath. “I should have been able to do it. I never wanted you to be hurt.” He focused on her face, feeling a kind of peace to see her again, to hear her voice. “I took care of him in the end. I stopped him from doing that to anyone else’s mother.”

“Hmph.” She looked unimpressed by that, but settled her hands on his cheeks, stepping back enough to study him. Her smile then was softer, sweeter. “You’ve grown so big,” she marvelled quietly. “My beautiful boy. I knew you would be handsome. I knew you would be tall and strong.”

He smiled a little, looking down at her. “I’m a full foot taller than you. I never realized how short you were. You were always so busy, so in charge, but you were so tiny.” He laughed, leaning into her hands a little. “I’m practically old now.” Actually, he realized suddenly, he wasn’t that much younger than she’d been.

She laughed, and the sound broke his heart and sewed it back together all in the same moment. “Old,” she echoed with a scoff, shaking her head. “You are a puppy, _schatzi._ A tiny dachshund. Are you taking care of yourself?” She searched his face, tilting her head.

A tiny dachshund. He laughed, pulling away from her enough to hug her again tightly. “I’m doing better than I was. I’m going to therapy and everything, trying not to be so angry. Charles makes me take care of myself. I help run a school.” He let her go and sat on the edge of the couch again, looking up at her. She was so beautiful. He’d forgotten the sound of her voice, really, but it was everything good in the early part of his world in one sound. “Can you believe that? I _teach.”_

“Do you like it?” She caught his fingers and squeezed them.

He curled his fingers around hers, smiling a little. “Yeah. I do, actually. I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Charles. You would have loved him as much as I do.”

“How could I not? Anyone who takes care of you has already won my approval.” She settled his hand on her knee and looked up at him. “I’m proud of you, Erik. It’s been so hard, _liebchen._ You struggled for so long.”

His throat ached again, his eyes burning. “I’ve missed you so much. I wish I could take you out of here and you could meet all of them. Charles and my kids. I wish you could just stay.”

She sat beside him on the couch, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him into a hug gently. “I know, _schatzi,”_ she murmured, pressing her lips against his hair. “I know. I wish I could, too. But this part of me?” She smoothed his hair back, then ran her hand down his arm, the same soothing motion she’d done all his life. “The part you’re speaking to? It’s your memory, _liebchen._ It doesn’t go away. The ghosts here are the good parts, the parts you mourned and you couldn’t let go. Letting go of us here doesn’t mean you forget us. It just means you don’t regret us anymore.” She kissed his ear, his cheek, his forehead. “I don’t ever leave you. You couldn’t ever forget me.”

“No.” Erik rested his head against hers, wrapping his arms around her. “No, I couldn’t ever forget you.” _I don’t ever leave you._ He smiled a little, wiping at his face a little as tears fell. “I love you, _Mama._ I’m sorry for everything, but thank you for seeing me. What do you want?” He hugged her. “Sasha said everyone had requests. If it’s for _kinder_ I can’t help you.” He felt a little grin cross his face at that.

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” she scoffed. “There’s plenty of ways for you to give me grandchildren and I expect them, regardless of whether or not I’m out there to meet them in person.” She wiped his cheeks gently as he gave a little unsteady laugh. “No, _liebchen._ Just… you did what you had to with Shaw. But from here on, live a happy life? Choose to be happy, to find peace. Stop punishing yourself. Live the life I wanted for you.” She squeezed him.

He nodded. “I’ll try. I have my days, but I’m trying. I’m trying to be good and choose better. Trying to make sure the kids don’t make the mistakes I made, make sure they grow up safe. That makes me happy.”

It was true. Protecting their children, teaching them, watching their powers grow and flourish instilled a peace in Erik that he never would have expected, soothed old hurts. 

“I promise I’ll try to stop blaming myself.” He looked down at her. That was a much harder ask, but he’d try.

She smiled, resting her forehead against his for a moment. “Having you was the best thing I ever did,” she told him warmly. “Thank you for being mine, Erik. Thank you for being such a good son.”

He squeezed her hand tightly. “Thank you for being such a good mother. You were always the best person I knew.”

“And you were always biased.” She kissed his forehead gently. “ _Ich liebe dich,_ Erik.”

He leaned into her, letting out a breath. Letting her go was going to be the hardest. “ _Ich liebe dich, Mama._ You can go. I want you to rest now.”

She wrapped her arms around him again, hugging him more tightly-

* * *

“Angel!”

Erik’s eyes snapped open and he found himself looking at the wall of the mansion, Sean’s voice rising in alarm. “Angel, holy shit, you set it on fire! Put it out!”

“You put it out! You’re lucky I don’t hobble your ass.”

“Guys, Eisenhardt’s gonna hear and kill you both,” Darwin cut in calmly.

Betsy quirked a smile at Erik, setting her notebook aside. “They can handle themselves,” she assured him as Alex and Scott’s voice joined the chaos outside. “How did all that feel?”

He sat up, looking away as he wiped his face. Ridiculous. He didn’t cry, hadn’t cried in years. He reached out mentally for Charles, brushing along their connection to soothe himself with the steady mind of his partner, and received a soft, distant brush in response, all warmth and affection. “I don’t know. It hurt. It was good to see them again.” He couldn’t believe how good it had been to see them again. The three women in his life he had failed, all telling him that he hadn’t failed. It was strange. “I think it’ll help once I have time to process it.”

He didn’t want to ask the stupid question that floated across his mind- _how much of that was real-_ and looked away.

“If you’re asking if I was acting as them or puppeting them, the answer is no.” She gave him a small smile, tucking her pen behind her ear. “Zasha and your mother both explained pieces-- memories stay with you. People like to say ‘the dead are always in our hearts,’ and it’s sappy, but it’s not entirely untrue. The people you spoke to were an amalgamation of every memory and experience you had of that person. Not who they actually were, necessarily, but as close to perfect as you remembered them. Your mind supplied the setting, who you spoke to, and what they said based on those memories. I just directed it to happen in the first place. What happened was what you, deep down, think that they would have said based on who they were while you knew them.”

He thought about them, thought about how each and every one had forgiven him and cared about him anyway, and nodded a little. “Thank you,” he said after a while, realizing how quiet he’d been. That was the good thing about having a telepathic therapist- and a telepathic partner, for that matter. If he fell into his brooding or a rabbit hole of thoughts, they could follow along and knew he wasn’t ignoring them or being sullen. “It was good to see them again, to talk to them. I missed them.”

She nodded, crossing her ankles as the kids began yelling to each other out in the hallway. Her lips quirked. “Normally I work in my office,” she informed him, “But you find their voices soothing even when they’re being…” she waved a hand toward them. “Your mind is very straightforward, Erik. You have built your life around what you loved and lost. Every action you have taken was either to protect someone, or to avenge them. Everything you did for seven years revolved around avenging Charles, your mother, Beck, and Zasha. Not the hurts that Shaw caused _you,_ but what they caused them. You needed closure for them now that Shaw is no longer a threat, and I think we reached that.” Her eyes crinkled slightly. “But now you have to do the messier part, which is coming to closure on what was done to you and how that still impacts you.”

“Can’t I just be unhealthy and traumatized?” He grinned at her a little, relaxing as her words sank in. Closure. That was a good thing. Something everyone needed. 

“No,” she informed him cheerfully, standing. “But I’ll let you be done for the day and handle your miscreants. I’ll be back next Friday, same time?”

“Yeah.” He stood, opening the door for her. “Thank you, Betsy, give me a second and I’ll walk you out. _Clean this up,”_ he growled down the hall at the teenagers clustered around a broken and smoking vase. “Now!” He gave her an exasperated smile. “They’re impossible.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” she agreed in amusement, following him down the hall and staircase. “Better you than me.”

He smiled at her back and after he’d shown her out, headed to the library, knowing that Charles would be finished with his class in a few moments. He liked catching the tail end of Charles teaching, enjoyed listening to him in Professor Mode. Erik stepped inside the office, smiling a little as Charles looked up at him, not stopping the flow of his lecture.

Erik had never really gotten over the small lurch of happiness and warmth that always cascaded through him when Charles gave him that smile, eyes dancing and warm, a pulse of comfort and home and welcome flowing between them.

_Hello, love,_ Charles greeted him with the briefest of winks before nodding to Ororo and the empty chair that Erik had to assume was being occupied by Alisa. “And that’s all for today. Thank you both. I believe the rest are upstairs and there has been a small fire, if you’d like to investigate that?”

“Cool,” Ororo murmured, scrambling up and brushing past Erik on her way out, calling for Scott. Charles beamed after her, then searched Erik’s face as Erik smiled, remembering his promise to Zasha.

“Hello.” Charles held out a hand. “How did your session with Betsy go?”

Erik curled his fingers around Charles’ and settled next to him, playing with his lover’s bracelet. “It was… difficult, but I think it will ultimately be helpful. Did you see any of it?” 

“No, of course not.” He leaned against Erik, smiling up at him. “I’m going to give you privacy. They’re therapy sessions, they’re personal.”

Erik pressed his lips to Charles’ wrist. “She pulled out some memories. They weren’t memories, they weren’t illusions, they were…” he pushed the memories and emotions and thoughts that had accompanied them toward his partner. Charles always understood the mess Erik made of the bundles of mental energy he sent him. “Different. I got to see my mother, and Beck, and Zasha. She explained what it was going to be, but I didn’t realize how real it would feel. I didn’t realize how much like them it would feel.”

Charles made a soft noise, squeezing his hand as he looked at the memories. “That’s beautiful, love.” He chuckled. “It’s funny that I was there, too.”

Erik smiled and shook his head. “I think I just needed you, after Zasha and Beck and before my mother.” He leaned forward, kissing his telepath. He’d tried very hard to keep the request Twelve had made of him quiet- he wanted to surprise Charles with it later. He sat back, thinking. “It was a good piece of closure, I think. I need to process everything, but I feel like it’s going to help once I do. It was good to speak to all of them again.”

“I get that.” He curled his fingers into Erik’s hand, searching his face with a warm smile. “Do you know what I was thinking about while you were gone?”

Erik lifted their hands, kissing Charles’ fingers. “I love learning what you think about, _liebe._ Your mind is my favorite thing about you.”

“I was thinking of the different lives we’ve had together. The different versions of you that I’ve fallen in love with.” He smiled, kissing Erik’s palm. “There was Two, so young and damaged. You were doing everything you could to take care of everyone you had left. And I was so hopeful, so sure that we would get out and live unburdened lives. We’ve changed so much since then.” He turned his head and kissed Erik’s shoulder. “And then there’s been the you of the past couple months. Working through who we both had become and who we wanted to be, trying to survive finding each other and knowing that Shaw was out there.” He kissed Erik’s neck. “And now there’s us, post-Shaw. And whatever that holds.”

Erik smiled, lifting Charles gently out of his wheelchair and resting him in his lap facing him to maximize their contact, wrapping his arms around the smaller man. “We’re going to have a good life now, Charles. It’s not always going to be easy, and we’ll keep changing and becoming different people.” He reached up, running a hand through Charles’ hair. “But I have loved every version of life I’ve had with you, Charles. As long as you’re here, we can figure everything else out. You are everything I could have asked for in a partner for my life.”

Charles’ smile was bright and warm, and his kiss was slow and soft. _I’ll take as many lifetimes with you as I can get,_ he murmured against Erik’s mind, and Erik hugged him closer as he kissed him back, feeling truly at peace for the first time in a very, very long time.

Erik Lensherr had never thought about further in any relationship, but eventually… eventually, marrying would be nice. To be Charles’ _husband…_ yes, something about the idea of belonging to Charles in that way, and of Charles wearing his ring and sharing a name, regardless of which name they chose, was pleasing. Making their relationship more permanent was something that was appealing.

He wondered idly if Charles would mind giving up part of his bracelet for it, if he’d allow the links of the metal to be thinner. He couldn’t imagine having quite the same level of attachment to any other alloy and it would be fitting, for it to be made from the material Charles had worn for him all this time. Charles cuddled into his chest, resting his head on his shoulder with a smile and a flicker of warmth through his mind, and Erik shut his eyes, resting his chin on top of his head. All in due time.

For now, he’d just revel in the peace they had worked so hard to claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Wow, guys, we're done. This series was the first thing that Clarke and I ever showed the public, and it was a LONG work. And now it's over, and there's such a bittersweetness about it all. The story originally ended in last chapter, but we felt like Erik and the reader deserved some closure on the hell he'd gone through, so we provided that here. As I've said before, Beck and Zasha were unimportant OC's that were always doomed, but that I then accidentally got attached to. Zasha's role in the work got bigger with each edit, and finally I wanted to give her a way to be put to rest and thanked for her help. 
> 
> It's over now. We've considered doing a collection of shorts in this universe, just them and the kids celebrating holidays or something equally fluffy, but there's nothing definite now. Thank you guys so much for sticking with us through SO MANY chapters and so much drama. This has been an incredible experience that really helped me out during one of the hardest times in my life, and I can't thank you enough for it.
> 
> Comments and feedback are, as always, adored beyond measure.


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